The Beauty of Distance

When I first met you, you were swimming. Your body was almost entirely concealed by the blue-green glistening of the lake at twilight. I sat at the dock, your quiet observer, and watched you each time you emerged from beneath the horizon. I looked down at where my feet should have been, engulfed by the same sharply cold water, and turned a half smile at the thought that this substance alone is what connects us. We did not need to speak a word, or even acknowledge the other's existence. Still we were one; joined by our own desires for solitude, for escape. My eyes were transfixed, mesmerized by sight of your hands smoothing over your long wet hair as silver drops scattered off of you, back to their origins. The waves traced your figure and urged me to rise up from the shore and go to you, yet, as to not disturb our symbiosis, I remained in my place. I watched the setting sun bathe you in red and orange hues as you continued to make laps and as eveningtime chills began to transplant upon my skin. You displayed a silent determination, propelling yourself further and further, no clear destination in sight. I yearned to join you, to achieve the same private freedom through simple yet concentrated movement. I did not know how. I simply sat there soaking you in and being grateful for the encounter yet to come.