Long Distance

Alternatively titled: “I Want to Hold Your Hand but You’re Million Beds Away”

There’s a certain feeling I dislike that’s worse and more intense than missing someone. It’s longing.

I long for you badly, so profoundly. I long for you so greatly that it feels like I’m wired for longing. I long for your presence so much that it feels like every atom in my body cannot be tamed when you leave the space you occupy in my screen. Every cell I contain feels like combusting every time they lose connection from yours even when we’re separated by miles of roads and depth of oceans. They know of absence, not distance. They know of connection, not of proximity.

I long for your voice when my ears stop feeling its vibration coming through my headphones. I long for it so deeply that my body just wants to cave in on itself, as if to find echoes of your voice to fall asleep to that could possibly be still lingering in every fold or corner of my insides.

I long for your lips to the point that I can almost feel its texture on mine whenever I imagine them with close or open eyes. I long for your texts. I long for your old, used, or worn-out love confessions. I long for your new ones that have been rotten untold in the back of your tongue. I long for your proximity. I long for your embrace with no layers in between.

I long to comfort you. I long to sit with you in times of vulnerability when you’re sitting in your bathroom floor crying. I long for your comfort and affection. I long for your touch. I long for your eye contact without the screen blocking us. I long for the softness of your sun-kissed hair, the hills of your collarbones.

It’s the certain feeling I dislike and feel the most. It’s like a fog that blurs windowsills, a needle that swims from my brain to my heart. It’s like ants gradually and slowly colonizing my entire being that makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I long for you intensely, passionately, badly sometimes so that the longing resorts to even the simplest things from you— a reply, a voice call, or a picture of you at 6 o’clock in the morning or 2 in the afternoon or 9 in the evening: things that could easily stop the fogging, the stabbing, and the colonizing.

Text and Visual by Samantha N. Fabian


  1. "...a needle that swims from my brain to my heart" POWERFUL imagery, Samantha you are a beautiful writer! Loved your piece

    1. Thank you so much omg. That really means a lot, Daisy. You made me happy, thank you. :') <3