You’ll be accustomed to the distance by the time you read this, sure long distance can work and you’ll read advice guides to check and statistics will be frenemies you’ll use, disavow, depending on their findings, and you’ll want to prove normalities wrong. Each month will be an advent calendar kind of a wait but each chocolate will be self-bought and not reward but consolation for the fact you can’t do to each other what the people on TV do because the miles between, you couldn’t spit across them.
When you realise, temporarily the distance can work, you’ll wish that plotting was a strong point of yours, that you could throw a spell, or hire an assistant to make the transition simpler. Instead, you’ll dwindle until you’re not sure you love what you love or why you loved it, and what made the motorways matter, the train fares inconsequential in the first place. You’ll add to your list, ‘Close to my door,’ and wish that every man that you picked moved next door first so your father could vet them.
Eventually, all you’ll be accustomed to is a phone vibrating at the most sexless of times, a tease with a message like 😦 eliminating libido like there was some, and you hadn’t read an article on the pros of asexuality and the absolute commonality of it. Prevalence.