The distance can be measure in units and time, 
but perhaps even in your voice and how it puts roads between us. 
Every letter, like a mile that marks my hate for those roads. 
These miles add up to sentences breaking down into syllables that mimicks the distance; taunting me. 
I must subtract them from our feelings and then tact on the promxity of our beings; or lack thereof. 
The past tense becomes present in every second of everyday and that's daunting; it is you know? 
Will I ever watch your hand illuminate beauty in your medium of time? 
Will you sit by me and watch as I twist these words from my pen? 
There's a sense of wonder to the game we will play with each other; fancy i'd know. 
This distance is measured in my words of longing for those everyday treasures, that makes our journey worth the simple pleasure of just watching you in that place so far away..