I don’t remember what the fight was about. I don’t remember when it started or how it escalated. I don't remember who was to blame. All I remember is the distance.
We were in the same room. Within a few feet of each other, really. But the distance between us was as great as a canyon. It seemed completely insurmountable.
How did we get there? How did we allow such negative space to come between us and how were we supposed to find a bridge to cross it back to the unity and intimacy we had known but a few hours ago?
Harsh words, hurtful accusations, old wounds re-opened had created such a chasm between us that we didn’t know how to find our way back. Thoughts of giving-up, of walking away, of not looking back seemed to come so much more easily than trying to find the shortest distance between us to reach out, grab a hand and jump back to standing on the other side together.
He looked at me. There was deep intent in his eyes. Slowly he began to cross the room. Hesitantly at first, bolder with each step. He reached my side. Took my face between his hands and tightened the grip when I tried to look away, still too angry to let it go.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Words so simple. And so powerful. Words that built a bridge. The shortest distance found.
My heart dropped the ice that was surrounding it and the connection was built.
No longer far away, we embraced and began the process of healing with words, touch, and understanding.
