It’s not you, it’s me.
I’m sorry for the moments
when my fear gets the better of me.
Sometimes it’s something so small,
a different tone in your messages,
a little less teasing,
a goodnight that lands more quietly,
and suddenly my mind starts building storms
in the spaces between your words.
I think about how we’ve gone
from strangers beneath separate skies
to becoming part of each other’s everyday life.
Your name lighting up my phone
like a window opening in the dark,
our stupid conversations,
the voice notes I replay when I miss you,
the way we still find something to laugh about
even when one of us is exhausted,
the little moments I’ve grown so used to having.
Even with oceans between us,
you’ve found your way into the ordinary parts of my day,
the pauses between errands,
the quiet before sleep,
the instinct to reach for my phone
when something makes me smile,
the way I save a story to tell you later
because somehow it feels more complete
once you’ve heard it.
Maybe that’s why the smallest change
can scare me so much:
because I know how much I’ve come to love
having you there,
not beside me, exactly,
but close in all the ways that matter.
Close in the messages waiting when I wake up,
in the familiar sound of your voice,
in the comfort of knowing that somewhere,
under a different sky,
you’re thinking of me too.
Sometimes I want to pull away first,
to protect myself from a goodbye
that hasn’t even happened.
But the truth is, I don’t want to run from you.
I want more late-night conversations,
more laughter crossing the distance,
more sleepy goodnights,
more little moments
important enough to carry with me everywhere.
So when I get lost in my head,
please be gentle with me.
I’m not looking for reasons to leave.
I’m learning not to mistake every change
for the first crack in something precious,
or turn a quiet moment
into a map leading away from you.
Because even with all this distance between us,
you’ve become something steady in me,
a voice I can find across the dark,
a warmth that reaches me
before I know how to ask for it,
the person I want to tell
about the smallest, most ordinary parts of my day.
I can’t promise I’ll never be afraid,
but I can promise I won’t let fear
make my decisions for me.
As long as there is a way back to you,
I’ll keep choosing it,
not because distance is easy,
but because you are worth crossing it for. ❤
when my fear gets the better of me.
Sometimes it’s something so small,
a different tone in your messages,
a little less teasing,
a goodnight that lands more quietly,
and suddenly my mind starts building storms
in the spaces between your words.
I think about how we’ve gone
from strangers beneath separate skies
to becoming part of each other’s everyday life.
Your name lighting up my phone
like a window opening in the dark,
our stupid conversations,
the voice notes I replay when I miss you,
the way we still find something to laugh about
even when one of us is exhausted,
the little moments I’ve grown so used to having.
Even with oceans between us,
you’ve found your way into the ordinary parts of my day,
the pauses between errands,
the quiet before sleep,
the instinct to reach for my phone
when something makes me smile,
the way I save a story to tell you later
because somehow it feels more complete
once you’ve heard it.
Maybe that’s why the smallest change
can scare me so much:
because I know how much I’ve come to love
having you there,
not beside me, exactly,
but close in all the ways that matter.
Close in the messages waiting when I wake up,
in the familiar sound of your voice,
in the comfort of knowing that somewhere,
under a different sky,
you’re thinking of me too.
Sometimes I want to pull away first,
to protect myself from a goodbye
that hasn’t even happened.
But the truth is, I don’t want to run from you.
I want more late-night conversations,
more laughter crossing the distance,
more sleepy goodnights,
more little moments
important enough to carry with me everywhere.
So when I get lost in my head,
please be gentle with me.
I’m not looking for reasons to leave.
I’m learning not to mistake every change
for the first crack in something precious,
or turn a quiet moment
into a map leading away from you.
Because even with all this distance between us,
you’ve become something steady in me,
a voice I can find across the dark,
a warmth that reaches me
before I know how to ask for it,
the person I want to tell
about the smallest, most ordinary parts of my day.
I can’t promise I’ll never be afraid,
but I can promise I won’t let fear
make my decisions for me.
As long as there is a way back to you,
I’ll keep choosing it,
not because distance is easy,
but because you are worth crossing it for. ❤
