Border Patrol

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Where’s the line?

Where’s the border between our two countries that I cannot, absolutely under no circumstances, cross without needing the proper papers?

I’ve never been good at geography, so you’ll have to tell me. Distance to me is in the extremes – close or far. Depth perception isn’t my strong suit. I can’t tell you how many yards something is away from me, that’s when I point and shrug.

‘It’s over there, I can tell ye that.’

What’s the point when it’s painfully obvious to me, and not just everyone else, that I’m deluding myself about you. Did you know that I felt guilty for thinking about going on a date with someone I thought I might actually like because it somehow, somewhere, felt like I was cheating on you.

I’m ridiculous, I know.

But living in this cross territory of not knowing where I am confuses me. I need a compass and the only way I’m going to get that is with you showing me the map and telling me the directions.

‘This is where we stand.’

Either we’re using this map together, or I need to buy my own.


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