How does one ever learn to live with the space between you and me? Countless songs composed,  poems written, and art created. And yet, that space persists. An emptiness that can never be filled. No, that’s not right. It is filled. Filled with sorrow and loneliness. Some days, the space feels vast. On these days, melancholy threatens to swallow me whole. Other days, it feels small, as though magically you’ve made a home in me and I in you. But inevitably, something happens to make me realize you can’t make homes in people. The you I thought made a home in me was a just a part of me. A part I hadn’t met yet and was too afraid to see as me. And the me you thought made a home in you was just a part of you. A part you hadn’t met yet and were too afraid to see as you. Maybe that’s the best we can do for another. Reveal things hidden until we see them in each other.