What fills the space between us?
Countless miles to travel.
Sometimes I feel myself drifting,
Apart from my body,
Traversing that distance.
If you were to reach for me,
I know that I would come.
Rushing into your arms,
Blind to the consequence.
I think you want to call out to me,
And meet me halfway.
But doubt clouds our minds
And makes us slaves to circumstance.
So I follow the line,
Tumbling back into my skin.
Days and nights pass by me.
I count them, forward and back.
They are the medals I wear,
From a war against myself.
In the end, I am not exactly sure,
If I have won or if I have lost.
They say only fools rush in.
I guess that makes me a long distance runner.
I only hope,
That in my final hour,
You will be waiting for me
At the end of my race.