Until distance lets me

I don’t need to say anything.

I’d just come sit beside you,
quiet enough not to ask anything of you,
close enough that you’d know
you didn’t have to carry it alone.

I’d bring no answers,
no questions,
no expectations.

Just me.
A shoulder.
A quiet presence.
Someone who stayed.

But there are miles between us,
and I hate that they make caring
feel so helpless.

Because you are on my mind
when I wake,
somewhere between everything I do,
and again when the world goes quiet at night.

And I wish I could cross all that distance
with nothing but the simple promise:

I’m here.

Not to fix you.
Not to make the hard days disappear.

Just to sit beside you
until they feel a little less heavy.

And if I could be there tonight,
I wouldn’t say a word.

I’d just sit close,
let you lean into me,
and hold you for as long as you needed.

So until distance finally lets me,
please remember this:

you matter to me.
More than I know how to put into words.

And even from far away,
a part of me is always beside you,
quietly holding you in my heart,
quietly caring,
quietly wishing
I could just reach out
and hold you close.