My love,
Regarding the placement of my favorite person
I have reviewed the current arrangement of the planet and would like to submit a comment. You are over there. I am over here. A considerable quantity of geography has been placed between us without, as far as I can establish, any consultation with me. I admire a landscape as much as anyone, but this seems excessive.
Until we can improve the seating plan, I would love a small piece of your day. A minute of your voice, your expression, your wonderfully specific view of whatever has just happened. I miss the commentary that comes with being beside you. The headline is that I love you. The footnote is that I also want to know why the coffee was disappointing.
Evidence that I miss the ordinary bits
I miss the tiny announcements you make when we’re together. The discovery of a good snack. Your reaction to an unreasonable email. The opinion you begin with “This is probably silly,” immediately before saying something I would happily discuss for twenty minutes.
So tell me what you would say if I were sitting beside you tonight. A little victory, a long afternoon, a thing you’re looking forward to. You do not have to produce a romantic short film. There can be laundry in the shot. Laundry has been present for a surprising amount of human intimacy and should probably receive a small supporting credit.
The headline is that I love you. The footnote is that I also want to know why the coffee was disappointing.
The romance need not wear formal clothes
Being apart can put pressure on the time we do get. The conversation has been arranged; therefore it must be meaningful. The lighting must suggest emotional depth. Nobody may spend too long complaining about a sandwich. I would like to relax these entirely imaginary regulations before they acquire a committee.
You can have a good day and tell me about it without worrying that I’ll hear “I forgot to miss you.” You can miss me and still enjoy where you are. I want to know your actual life, with its ordinary range of feelings. You don’t need to turn every update into a demonstration of how beautifully we are managing distance. We are two people having days, and I’m especially fond of your person.
A suitable format for your particular face
Video is lovely when you feel like letting me see you. A voice note is lovely when you would rather speak without a camera. Text is lovely when the words arrive that way. Choose what suits you. Sixty seconds gives you somewhere to begin; longer is fine. I did not fall for your efficient use of time, and I’m not introducing it as a requirement now.
This invitation comes from me, and your update comes back to me as its host. There is no wider audience, no automatic group sharing, and no need to prepare a version of your day that everyone would understand. You can include the unnecessary detail that only I would appreciate. I happen to consider several of those details necessary.
A small appeal, freely offered
You don’t owe me a daily proof of affection. If a day disappears into work, travel, or general existence, let it disappear. Return when you feel like sharing something, without an apology or a reconstruction of missing events. This petition contains no attendance clause. The map is causing enough inconvenience already.
I would love to carry a few more particular pictures of you through my day: you amused by something, pleased about a decision, describing the sky outside your window. A small story doesn’t move the continents. It does let me know a little more about the life of the person on the other side of them. I find that worth making room for.
OUR LITTLE PROMISE
So that is my appeal to geography, and my invitation to you. Leave me a little of the day when you want to. Your ordinary face, your actual thoughts, your entirely unaward-winning update. I already love the person in the picture. The scenery can do what it likes.
Yours, with several objections to the map