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.