Get the message?

Photograph: Giuseppe Bartoli.

I know I made my bed

because I sleep in it alone

despite a pillow and the left side

still smelling of you, but that

is what long distance means:

a life of leaving things for a tomorrow

you hope one day will come.

Like exchanging an xx for a kiss.

No one makes me feel the way you do

and that’s how I justify this lifestyle;

however, the sound of planes flying by

makes me shed a tear as I think of you.

Maybe, it was writing your name on the sky:

letter by letter, air mile after air mile.