Dear Theresa
Dear Theresa,
you are four thousand one hundred
fifty-one point sixty-six miles away.
Thinking about that distance slowly fills me with dread.
Sometimes I wish we could maybe meet halfway,
although it seems the Atlantic
is roughly eleven thousand feet too deep.
I wish you were still here, that would be fantastic.
Sometimes I just wish you could teleport, make a little leap.
There is seven hours between us
I fall asleep while you are working;
it is hard, there's so much I want to discuss
but with every conversation, I feel the clock ticking.
Despite all of our distance, you still make me laugh,
you're still my best friend, basically my other half.