You are so close, and I can’t reach you.
But death is not freedom. For a moment, it can look like freedom. But then it's death. Anything. Something. Nothing.
Moments into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into years. Years into possibility. This will linger.
Maybe, it's not the distance that's the problem, but how you handle it.
I think they have compatible silences.
That no matter what i did, I would always be missing something else. And the only way to live, the only way to be happy, was to make sure the things I didn't miss meant more to me than the things I missed.