Distance doesn’t have to mean a goddamn thing. On a map I can dance my fingers from me to you but the second my eyes tear away I’m faced with disappointment, wavering lost hope of a false hoax trickery of an illusion. The moon can still affect the ocean tides, like a master and his puppet, and look from how far. The sun is 93,000,000 miles away from Earth and its impact is continuously brutal. My flesh is boiling, I swear it just tapped me on the shoulder and left a burn. Look - look I’m stretching my hand out to you. Do I feel your touch, or was that the wind playing a bad joke? Maybe. But explain this flutter inside my chest. You’re living inside me like a disease. Distance doesn’t have to mean a goddamn thing - now do you see?