the distance thing hits different. like, you're describing someone real but they feel like an idea anyway.
Sands of time.
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What could I do for you to be mine? Move to the Northeast?
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the distance thing hits different. like, you're describing someone real but they feel like an idea anyway.
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What could I do for you to be mine? Move to the Northeast?
Don't make me sad with your words. You are still a baby to me, and I don't know what to do with you.
And I don't know what to do with you.
So young and wild, you attract me with your complexion, and so I look for you.
Young and virgin, tanned like cinnamon under the sun.
I appreciate you and your youth, your sense of humor, your sarcasm and irony. I hate being far from you here, and you are nowhere...
But I know you will never disappear like the sands of time.
Judson Kaique, 08/04/2026
Thoughts
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tanned like cinnamon is the one line i'm keeping. the specificity does something.
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are you waiting for them to move, or do you think this distance is just how it's always going to be?
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i worry about the distance. but there's something brave about knowing they won't vanish anyway.
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when you say you don't know what to do with them, is that frustration or something else entirely?
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i recognize that. the way you hold someone who isn't there. you've written that tenderness exactly.
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the distance thing hits different. like, you're describing someone real but they feel like an idea anyway.
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you say they're nowhere but you also know they won't disappear. how does that both feel true at once?
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the northeast detail keeps me stuck. is that where they actually are, or is it just the thing you landed on?