love long distance

dear john(s),

i feel like i exist very seperately from you. i am on my plane and you are on your's. we wave; perhaps we intersect at points, but generally, we're nowhere near each other. i spend time in the car, imagining what you think about, what you might wear to bed, how you comfort yourself when life feels overwhelming. i'm really interested but don't expect to have the answers any time soon.
i rode my bike in the rain, i called my friends. i took a bath and ate soy ice cream. i got to know some neighbors in the hall. i bought a hammer from the hardware store and put it under the sink. i do all these things in a tiny, private world. i do everything there. it's hard to remember the time when i was as connected as i was to my last john. it's hard to map out how that life happened.
maybe someday i'll hurry home to find a friend in bed. we'll be playing with our cat and watering our plants. maybe i'll bring up the paper from the coffee shop to share. maybe i'll pour two glasses of wine in the evening and watch movies on the tv and half groceries with a not so strange stranger.
until then, i'm very fine over here. i fumble and bumble around my house. i have late nights with friends and we smoke pot and order pizza. i walk home alone and comment to no one in particular about the big, dark sky.

love,
jane