the love stories we see in movies

How is that that the people we love most we have to sometimes protect ourselves from?  Imagine yourself fully in the mists of lust, entangled with a body you crave, tasting the sweat of a man that you would simply give up anything for.  Wrapped up in this sweet and tender warmth, you feel like nothing could possible go wrong.  Your world slows down, and you actually think “Do other people feel love like this?”.  Melodies play in your head like you’re in one of those movies that girls watch and romanticize about such a love story.  Here you are, co-existing with someone that makes you glow.  

Now wedge a cold breeze between you.  Imagine distance so far that you physically feel yourself stretched too thin.  That lust and magic simmering to a mere memory until next time.  Can you feel that chaos of panic in the vast nothingness that lies between you?  A man who once used to be kissing your neck and solving mazes in your eyes, can only show you love in words now.  His touch is found through words on a screen or echoing into my ear, while he sits where he is and I sit far from that place.  I hear that beautifully tragic song play in the background, the part of the movie where girls cry and beg for lovers to find each other again.  Your life turns into a something people read about in Nicolas Sparks books.  Your own Notebook affair.  

How do we survive these love stories? Is it through accepting the voids we feel, distracting ourselves from the suffering, or believing in the romance.  Do we listen to our voices? Who holds me now?  What is the lesson here?  Does distance really make the heart grow fonder?  I can embrace myself and call myself beautiful, but I love it so much more when he touches the crook of my neck and kisses my forehead and says “God, you’re beautiful”.   I can tell myself that it’s going to be ok, but I love it so much more when he he wipes my tears for me, when he pulls me into him and holds me and i feel his chest pound, and says “ Don’t be sad, because sad backwards is das and das not good”.  I love it when he makes me grin when I’m crying, only he can find a way to do that.  

So do we miss each other, and live this way til I get to take hold of his hand again and play with this fingers like a little girl fascinated by such manly hands.  Do I say over and over, “I love you a lottle, it’s like a little except a lot”.. Does he tell me he misses his baby girl each time he feels that void ache?