I’ve never been a believer in long-distance relationships. The thought that love can exist without any physical interaction, or sex for that matter, just seems empty.

Yet I find myself in a ‘long-distance limbo’ — not quite in a relationship, but still madly in love with a boy thousands of miles away.

It all started in January. He ‘accidentally’ added me on Facebook, the next day we had coffee and watched season three of Jersey Shore — what can I say? I’m a romantic.

That same day, I also learned that in four months this boy would be whisked away to Canada to join the circus for two years, but I didn’t care. What stood before me was a very handsome boy who I wanted for my own, and if it meant only four months of pure bliss, then I was going to take it, and I did.

It was everything I thought it would be. I had finally met a guy who loved to listen, who wanted to go out and have some fun, and loved me for me. And we all know how hard that is to find. My friends loved him, my parents loved him, and I loved him. Then came April.

We had planned the break-up over a course of two weeks. Week one would be together but not ‘Facebook official’, week two would be zero contact.

As you can guess, that didn’t work at all. I now totally sympathise with babies coming off breast milk. Weaning yourself off something you enjoy so much is hell, even worse when your mother is cramming mushed peas down your throat, but I digress.

Many people said we did the ‘mature thing’, which was realise a long-distance relationship is impossible, especially at our age. We both knew it was coming, but I don’t think we were ready for what it really meant. Comes with the age I suppose.

If it was meant to be, then it will be, and in two years he’ll be back in my arms. Until then, c’est la vie!


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