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Love in the Time of Corona: even the shortest of distances…

This article is a part of our series Love in the Time of Corona. If you have any interesting or scandalous love, relationship, or sex stories of your own during the pandemic, reach out to us! We’d love to hear all about it…

Before the pandemic, I was in a long-distance relationship of 3,400 miles and five hours of time difference. Currently, I am in a long-distance relationship of 30 miles and no time difference. Two guesses as to which is harder.

Not that I am ungrateful to be closer to my boyfriend. I’m not. It is certainly easier to coordinate phone calls. No longer do I have to get up obscenely early to see his face, or stay up obscenely late. I don’t have to work around in person classes or hangouts with friends (although those became few and far inbetween as the pandemic raged on). And although I miss my flatmates and the city, I am generally happy to be home with my family and with him. 

But there, my darlings, is the rub. It is one million times harder to be long distance when your partner is only an hour away. This seems counter-intuitive, but trust me, I will explain.

As a functioning hopeless romantic, it is incredibly difficult to fight the urge to just drive the thirty miles to see him. Anytime I miss him, which is more often than I am willing to admit, I have to physically stop myself from reaching for the keys to my parents’ car. Currently, his accommodation is on COVID lockdown. I thought that would make the urge lessen. Nope! Instead, I have to stop myself from driving down there and pulling an Animal House. The only thing stopping me is the fact that he is on the ninth floor of his accommodation and I don’t think I could throw pebbles that high.

And the fact that I got to see him at least for a little while before he went back to school should satisfy me. It doesn’t. The fact that I was able to get a taste of being with him in person makes the distance that much worse. Whoever said that distance makes the heart grow fonder was right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch them in the face.

If this hopeless longing has taught me anything, it’s a newfound respect for the Victorians. They couldn’t just take the horse and carriage and see their lover whenever the mood struck them. They strapped themselves into their corsets every morning and waited for the day their lover responded to their letter, staring longingly out the window and embroidering flowers. On a completely unrelated note, I have just taken up embroidery. Might as well embrace the aesthetic. 

So for the next couple of months, if you are looking for me, you will find me staring longingly out the window, writing love letters I will never send, and kicking myself for being such an incurable sap. And for those of you Edi students in the same situation as me, don’t worry, you are not alone.

Remember to communicate with your partners and refrain from looking through your old photos. Trust me, there’s nothing that the photos of your last holiday with your partner can do for you except make you ugly cry at three am. It’s not worth it, I promise. 

So good luck, lovers. I will see you on the other side of this, hopefully sooner, rather than later. 

Image: Romeo and Juliet via Flickr