There is space between people. Some, quite obvious but some just hide in plain sight.
One day you pick up the phone and try to call that someone who made you feel something. It rings and rings in an endless loop to finally die out. You try a few more times, staring at the grey wall in the hope to find a familiar voice on the other side. But end up listening to a computer-generated monotonous voice telling you that the other side is empty like the wall painted in grey with no memories. But it doesn't tell you why. It doesn't tell you why there is no one on the other side with a familiar voice or why it took you so long to figure it out, that there's space between people.
It's such a cliché to cling on to nostalgia, isn't it? But we cling on to some of it for some reason.
Letters are more personal than some instant messages waiting for a double tick. It makes you feel connected, traveling slowly through the mundane life to reach someone. It smells like... you. Maybe it used to, I'm not sure anymore. Memories get rusty after a while, I guess. Or maybe you don't want to remember certain things. Yet, some things hit you when the whiskey hits the right spot or the nights mourn the death of a stranger, in silence. It hits you, that you don't know the address to fill in the space staring right back at you; you don't know whom to write to.
There is space between people, space that words cannot reach.
You type "hey" on the screen to catch up with the old friend, but get stuck on the next line.
You don’t know who they are anymore, or what’s happening in their life or their new favorite song. There is this idea of whom they used to be, stuck in your head, but they aren’t the same, and it makes you wonder if you ever get to catch up with their new life, friends, and maybe their new favorite songs. It’s strange how we all used to dream about a future that we were uncertain about, with people we barely knew. Now you live in two cities, living two different lives staring at the same screen and wondering about what to type next.
There is space between people, space that filled with new people, and life that you don't know about.
You can fill the space between the stars with your fingertips. It makes you feel like a giant who's about to swallow the sky. Or just a hopeless romantic trying to figure out why there's so much space between the stars. We drift apart, slowly, like all the stars in the sky; drifting through space to an unknown fate.
It's funny, you know, how we write some exaggerated poetic bullshit about how people always find a reason to stay. Even not talking for hours, days, weeks, months, or years, how people find their way back. Maybe it's all lies that we made up to sell a few lines. Like the way we used to talk about stars as some divine celestial bodies looking down on us, now they are just atoms burning up, waiting for their inevitable end.
There is space between people, space that is out of reach. Just as cold as the empty side of the bed that you woke up to.