Five feet is not a lot.

Not when measured against oceans.

Not when measured against countries.

Not when measured against the years people spend searching for someone who feels like home.

And yet, five feet was enough to break a heart.

I used to think love was found in touch.

In fingers intertwined.

In foreheads pressed together.

In the warmth of another person lingering on your skin.

Then I met you.

And suddenly love became something else.

A glance held a second too long.

A smile from across the room.

A thousand words spoken in the silence between us.

You stood there,

always just beyond reach,

like a wish the universe wasn't ready to grant.

Some days I hated the distance.

I hated the way it turned simple things into impossible things.

How something as small as holding your hand felt larger than the moon.

But on other days, I loved it.

Because if five feet could not stop me from loving you,

then maybe what I felt was real.

Maybe love was never meant to be measured in inches.

Maybe it was measured in the way you became the first person I looked for.

The way your laughter made bad days softer.

The way my heart learned your name before my lips ever dared to say it.

And if loving you meant standing still while every part of me wanted to run into your arms,

then I would have stood there forever.

Five feet away.

Looking at you.

Choosing you.

Loving you.

Even when the distance refused to love us back.