I know it doesn’t matter at all, as I fully expect to never see you again in my life, but I will be minutes from you tomorrow. I will drive through your town in a car packed with my mother, stepfather, sister-in-law, and boyfriend. And I will pass within one mile of your house. Twice. On the way to and back from my younger brother’s college graduation.
I’m telling you this because I can’t bear the weight of this terrible proximity alone. If I’m going to feel this physically near to you tomorrow, I need you to feel it as well. I need you to know that we will be breathing the same air, experiencing the same weather, hearing the same birds, enduring the same traffic, basking in the same sun.
For a short while, it will be the same. And then I will return to that different place indefinitely.