I try to get up. I try to gather the pieces of myself that keep slipping through my fingers. I try to face a world where she and I will never stand side by side, never share the same sky in a way that means anything. I keep reminding myself she is out there somewhere happy, safe, living a life I know nothing about. A life untouched by me. Her world and mine were never built to overlap; they spin too far apart, separated by miles, choices, and a future that never had room for us. She lives somewhere distant, far enough that I will never see her again… yet somehow close enough that she still finds her way into my dreams. Close enough that she feels almost reachable in the quiet hours of the night, just long enough to remind me what I’ve lost when morning comes. I try to stand up and see the world clearly; A world with no concept of “us,” no possibility of becoming, no space where our paths could ever merge. I try to accept it, to move toward something that resembles living. But I try. And I fail. Over and over, I fail. And yet, this is what I must learn to live with, the truth that she belongs to a gentler place, a peaceful place where her happiness blooms untouched by my longing. If that is where she thrives, then that is where she should stay. And I will stay here, learning slowly, painfully, to love her from a distance that will never close.