prompt: you're halfway across the country and I'm missing you more than you could imagineMature

We send each other postcards every day
with trivial details on them.  Things you might send home
if you were travelling - what you had for lunch, whether
the sky had darkened with storm clouds or 
that interesting poster you’d seen on the metro that afternoon - 
and it is nice holding something in my hand, knowing
you’d held it too.  I pin them to my walls and pretend
they’re kite strings that tether me to you.  I tell people
I collect moments like marbles in a jar, that these miles
are just postage stamps, but the truth is they’re stretch marks
and my heart has grown big enough that one day soon
you might be able to hear it beating when you’re trying to sleep
and the bed is cold and the map is colder. 

The End

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