There always exists a space between people that cannot be travelled, created by the inability to share consciousness and essential selfhood. In the beginning of love when the only need is to be inside one another, that space is unbearable. The agony of the space lessens and it becomes a small and necessary friend over time, or left unattended it widens into a chasm of indifference. He knew that in the night, when he woke with her bundled warm and soft against his body, and he knew how large and close the space was. The next morning he loved her with no complications and the dread was ridiculous. He was not old enough to know that feelings felt when one wakes after midnight are almost always true, laid bare by the hour and the unflinching, honest stars. He shrugged in the day and was happy.
Frantic, online author