Love Me Beyond Distance

Michael and Sylvia measured their relationship in departures. Train stations. Platform numbers.

The weight of goodbye settling into their shoulders like a coat they couldn’t take off.

They were careful not to cry in public. Careful not to linger too long. Careful not to promise

what the distance might break. On Sylvia's last visit, Michael walked her

to the platform and said nothing. He just handed her a folded piece of paper.

“Open it later,” he said. The train pulled away. She didn’t wave.

She never did. Hours later, alone in her apartment, she unfolded the note.

It was a list. Things he loved about her that had nothing to do with missing her.