348 days and counting— that’s how long we’ve been apart. 3,459 miles— that’s how far we are apart. While the time and distance between us may seem quite large, I know that I’ll see him again.
Our story began in our junior year of high school. Two kids, unsure of themselves and the meaning of love, became biology lab partners, and their connection grew into something more. He was the first person I told when I got into school in New York, and I was the first to hear about his acceptance in London. I thought that doing the distance would mean that we would still get to see each other every break. Up until this year, my dreams had been reality.
I haven’t seen him in almost a year, which is crazy to think, since it’s the longest we’ve been apart since we first met one another. My first semester of my second year at college was hectic, which meant that I didn’t have the time to travel. I had hoped that my second semester would be a lighter and was banking on spring break for an opportunity to visit him in London. I was definitely wrong.
After cancelling my spring travel plans, we relied on long FaceTime calls during the early hours of the morning. One of us was always forced to compensate, so we took turns living on a flipped schedule each time we called. At first, the calls were fine— doing the distance was something we have gotten used to after four years of dating. But the impending cancellation of all forms of travel and knowing deep down that we’d be separated for a long time was incredibly daunting.
It’s during these tough times that I remember the stories my grandmother told me. How she and my grandfather waited for weeks for a letter to arrive in the mail. I’m so fortunate that nowadays, long distance is only a call away instead of relying on shoddy postal service. Still, a year feels so much longer when you’re missing someone.
Written by: Alina Fowler