The Story of a Long Distance Romance

How much can you miss a person before seeing them doesn’t make it worth it? Are you allowed to hurt this much – is the next meeting going to justify the pain you feel now? I can’t tell if, as the number gets smaller and fewer hours separate our meeting, it gets any easier. The weight of expectation is pricking holes down my arteries and it’s getting harder to breathe. If I see you and you can’t fix me, I’m going to fall apart.

I’ve weaved myself into a trap of cliched writing. The stereotypical debate is as follows: Is it easier to let go or to hold on. And I can’t let go – I don’t want to. But this pent up frustration and anger, like a wasp stinging me every time some semblance of hope crops up on the horizon; I’m not sure how long more I can take.

So I grip onto the silken thread you’ve left for me to hold onto. They say a spider’s web is stronger than you could ever expect from something so delicate you know? I’ll drag myself up, time and time again, a divide cracking me in half and I’m not sure if it’s physical or my own shortcomings.

Your happiness wraps me up like a warm bath that keeps getting hotter, searing my skin and I’m burnt. Charcoal flakes off me and in the morning I’m new for an imaginary instance.



You’re spewing vulgarity,
And I wish I could take your words and throw them at him.

Cunt, you’re up in smoke.
Burn holes in the sweater I’ve forgotten the smell of
And taint it with grassy forgetfulness.
Hazy, hazy child,
It’s like he runs a mile before realising it’s in a mirror.
Turn around, my love, before it’s too late,
Thread a trail of apologies behind you
And cling to the hope I’ll trip.

Know I’ll trip. Know I’ll never toss words at you,
I’ll cut you, but I’ll never salt your wounds,
And you’ll never learn.
I’m listening to her speak,
And I wish I could turn on you.
Violate you with how I’m feeling.
Cloying, sweet messages of vapid emotion.

Without you, I’m seeing bones.
A skeleton wrought with potential.


Clean your wounds with callused hands,
Dirtied fingertips, chipped nails.
Infect them with the best intentions.
I don’t know the slightest of you
But let me help you.

In you, out of you, with you, as you.
A failure to distinguish two halves,
But the splintered fragments are so obvious.
I cracked you, but you didn’t me.
I took a chisel to myself and peeled away the plaster.

Piece me back together,
Gloved palms and a sterile fragrance.
Hold me in the back of a streetcar,
Surrounded by the unromantic stale leather
And tell me we’re leaving.

Going, going, going:
Nowhere, everywhere, to your house, to mine.
Scale the cliffs of our relationship
And look at the view.
Pray it’s an eternal summer.

And it’s you who’s the idealist.
You paint a scene of blues and reds,
Starks contrasts, you paint white on white.
Bleach out the imperfections, give me
Pastel shades of muted glory.

Take me on a trip.
Fluxing into your mind and back out through your eyes.
Tether me to you hope because
I don’t have


I went to my cousin’s wedding this past weekend. Not to my surprise, nor to the surprise of others, I managed to forgot the last hour of the night. Champagne is my kryptonite – what can I say? I’m a spoilt, light-weight cheap drunk. Nevertheless, prior to this wonderful bubbly induced oblivion. I realized a lot, although it was clouded over by a haze of joyous banter and unrestrained dancing to Billy Jean (who is most certainly not my lover).

I was surrounded by couples; genuinely a maze of relationships, all of which, ridiculously enough, had lasted longer than 6 years. Even my 21 year old cousin had been seeing his girlfriend since he was 14 – I never realized it before this weekend, but my family has a tendency for long relationships. My parents have been married for 23 years now (their anniversary was on the first of this month, strangely enough), and before that, my mum was in a 10 year relationship. 

Despite the obvious fact I had a boyfriend, my aunts and uncles joked around (I hope!) and offered to set me up with a rather good looking friend of our entire extended family. I may be as committed as any girlfriend could be, but let’s be honest, I can appreciate a fine specimen when I see them. It was funny – I bummed a cig off of him behind by relatives backs, we stole ice-cream from the children’s’ room and downed the last two glasses of white wine (yes, a little variety in my alcoholic diet).

Nevertheless, the only person on my mind was Joe. I called him, from Malaysia, to the USA. I hardly remember it, but even when considering how bloody expensive that call is going to be, I regret nothing. I’m quite sure that I was happiest when listening to the sound of his voice – obviously my first realization of the night was how much I missed him. I missed him while I dressed up, while I made my way through ten courses, when I was foolishly dancing. I had no one there that meant enough to me for me to want to impress them, nobody to laugh at my food baby, no one to give me kisses when I stumbled back into my hotel room.

When people weren’t trying to set me up, they were asking me when I was going to get married. Would the wedding be in Hong Kong? Singapore? Malaysia? Canada? Ridiculous questions to ask a seventeen year old, who hasn’t even been to university yet. A little strange, and very stifling. The next realization that I came to was about my family – they didn’t expect fleeting relationships, and they didn’t see this as a fleeting relationship at all. I’m a little bit scared now.

But most of all, I suppose I’m a little bit happy. I love weddings – I want a big one, white gown, church, getting walked down the aisle, a full banquet and all the people I love in the world around me. This weekend just emphasized that. I don’t care if you can get a divorce readily these days, I don’t care if people think weddings are social constructs that mean nothing. I love weddings because you won’t find more love anywhere else in the world. I love weddings because everyone there, divorced, widowed, single, engaged – no matter what they are, is recognizing the presence of love. Maybe this doesn’t apply to arranged marriages, but let’s assume that those aren’t included here. The main reasons I love weddings is because, in a world that can be so cold, weddings are like a brick framed fireplace, a mug of hot chocolate, an electric blanket or a snuggie. I wrap myself up in weddings – I wrap myself up in the idealistic fantasy that I too will one day experience a day of which its purpose is simply love.