I am going to node until my fingers bleed because I am depressed.

I love you more than anything, and I've never even touched your face.

It never used to be this hard. You went to school in your little pink dress with your little pink bow and your little pink backpack and the lunch your mommy and daddy packed for you. You read books like See Spot Run and Sally, Dick, and Jane. It was easy to get the teachers to like you because all you had to do was look cute and read well and color inside the lines. If you liked a boy, you hit him and chased him and made him know very well that you didn't like him, and that his cooties were unappreciated and unwanted. You went home to mommy and daddy and hugged and cuddled and played outside in the leaves when fall came and in the snow when winter came and baked cookies and felt happy. You didn't know better yet, that this was not life.

Then, slowly, things became more complicated. You had to work harder to make teachers appreciate or even notice you. You developed in areas the other kids hadn't yet, not knowing why you had to be different. Boys you liked weren't satisfied to be beat up by you anymore, they wanted things like kisses and touches and you didn't know how to handle that.

But slowly you learned, this is how you wanted it to be all along. Occasionally, you'd beat a boy up to make him like you, but it always ended the same way -- in kisses and touches.

And then you went to college and realized that you missed mommy and daddy holding your little hand and tying the little pink ribbon into your hair. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't please the teacher who adored everyone in the class but you. And you couldn't understand why no boys ever saw you, regardless of how you treated them or how great your personality was.

And then you met him, whom you've never touched, never stared at, never kissed. And you love him more than you ever imagined you could love anyone, and he isn't even here. You couldn't get enough of each other, and spoke as often as possible, hours on end on the computer, on the phone. The distance meant nothing but that you couldn't actually touch. You know you will someday.

But things changed again. You've been together so long you take things for granted. He was always there, and now he's busy, busy trying to be with you, as slow a process as it might be. He never does forget you, but you need his attention, which was once a given, but which you must now beg for, but he can't always be there anymore. One day, he will be. You must know this, no matter how frustrated and alone you feel. He loves you, he will be with you.

Whenever, wherever, we're meant to be together.

I apologize for the use of the you pronoun instead of the I pronoun, but somehow, detaching myself from the situation made it easier to node, and easier to feel a release. I also apologize for anyone who actually read this node, as I really just needed to write out my pain, which is the only way I ever feel better.