While I’m giving my hands these tiny sweaters, and giving my neck another layer of warmth, I’m wondering why it is some lands are warmer than mine. I think about the distance that separates climates and people from others. I think about the bombs that touch some streets, but not others, and the way there is a sunrise here, but a sunset there. How, somewhere in this distance, another is saying their goodbyes to the one they love, feeling an earthquakes rattle of pain, while another is opening their eyes, not yet knowing the distance that exists. I find this separation a little agonizing at times, because I know there is heartache unreached and celebrations I cannot attend. There is this overwhelming thought that, if only we stopped our clocks and filled the biding time with an empathy or celebration or being with the distance, it would feel like we are no longer learning through glass filled with a glowing light, but rather the fingerprint-intimacy that distance prevents.

And this all comes from the snug of my gloves and the ring of my scarf, giving another layer of distance from all of these painful and lovely things.



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