I used to think being single was a waiting room. Something you sat in until the real part of your life showed up and gave you permission to start living it. I don't think that anymore.

I've spent enough nights doing the math — time zones, hours until the next call, how many days until I see him again — to know the truth nobody says out loud: distance doesn't test love. It tests everything around it.

Two years of chasing someone who showed up just enough to keep me hoping — never enough to call it real. I knew exactly what I was doing to myself. I did it anyway.