This is harder than I thought it would be;
every minute feels like a year.
The seconds crawl agonisingly and I count
the days off, slowly.
Because all I want is to be with you;
you, who are too far away.

Thousands of miles.

Oceans.

Mountains.

Entire continents.

Separate us.

We do not even look on the same sky.
And that is the tragedy of us.
Because we know each of the other
and it's all about forever,
but today is not the future
because today you are still there
and I am still here.

And all I want to do is to touch you,
trail my fingertips across the canvas of your skin.
Worship you with my body,
my mouth, and my soul.
And that's coming, in the future,
but the future is so far away.
And every second feels like a year today.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Phaestian, in the year 932 AF.