love and long distance

when a piece of your heart lies nearly 200 miles away

What happens when a piece of your heart lies one-hundred-and-eighty twisty, misty mountain miles away? First, you find ways to embrace the small satisfactions of each day spent alone. You breathe life into the dusty corners of your old self and find a new person emerging. You embrace her under the light of the moon. She helps the missing piece ache less. You find you are able to dance and laugh and create together from a wild, moonlit place. Then, when the whole of you aches, you hop on a train and meet the missing part of your heart halfway.

I.

The carriage rattles over the tracks somewhere north of Blair Atholl. I gaze into a penetrating dark and feel the mountain gaze back. The gloaming reflects a young woman: part wound, part wildcat. The moonlit part of my soul, the part that thrives on intensity and dusk - the part that no one sees - is laid bare.