By ALISON CUMMINGS
Guest Columnist

Distance is the empty atmosphere that stands between. For us, it’s 4,186 miles of “How long until we meet again?” Distance is hanging his flag under my flag as a symbol, because for distance, there is no flag, ribbon or beacon uniting all of us. Distance is counting down the days, praying for a safe flight, and a painful goodbye. But distance? Distance has always been worth it.

We met in the spring of 2015, but it wasn’t until almost a year later that we were finally able to meet in person. Ryan is from Manchester, England, and I’m from a small town just outside of Kansas City. At the time, I ran a blog of about 40 followers, and whether it was fate, luck or coincidence is up for debate, but somehow, an article of mine showed up on his Discover page, thousands of miles away. He started following me, and I him, until one of us mustered up the courage to send the message that would change our lives from that point on.

We weren’t lonely people, and we certainly weren’t in the business of finding true love. In fact, we were both such busy people that we were unsure if a relationship would even work. Ryan is a jazz drummer, so he spent most of his time playing gigs, he was also a university student and extremely social. I was in my last year of high school, performing in every theatre production, president of the debate team and preparing for graduation.

Somehow, though, in the midst of our hectic lives, we found a way to make this work. There was no other option, really. The chemistry was so strong between us that within the first week, neither one of us had slept a reasonable amount, nor had we thought about anything aside from each other. Finally, we had to make a decision. I won’t say we were prepared to fall in love, and we certainly weren’t ready for a long distance relationship. However, we couldn’t bear the thought of regret at never having known what could have been.

Fast forward through a billion texts, a million phone calls and a thousand Skype dates and it was time to close the distance. I worked two jobs over the summer, as did Ryan, and we were able to afford that first ticket. My parents, who were extremely supportive (as were his), agreed to let him stay in our home. So, on Dec. 11, 2015, I met Ryan in the KCI airport. A 13-hour flight brought him all the way from England to a place that he will always see as a home away from home.

There are no words that could possibly come close to accurately describing the moment we met. Without the pixelated laptop screen dividing us, I was finally able to allow myself to fall into him. Completely, and perfectly, I gave myself over to a love that had been just out of reach for what seemed like an eternity. And that was only a glimpse of what would come.

Being with Ryan was comparable to taking every perfect little moment I’ve had in my life (ie. reading books, taking baths, laughing until I pee…etc.) balling them up into one happy moment that’s cut too short, and then multiplying it by about 1,000 percent. And it’s like every tear shed over the injustice of “distance” was worth it in the end, and it finally made sense to me. How satisfying it was to finally understand the point in every night spent crying on the phone, desperate to touch him, and unable to feel his presence. It was beautiful.

I remember our last kiss as well as I remember our first, and as well as I’ll remember our next, and the kiss after that. I used to believe that melancholy and bittersweet only existed within the context of books and movies and everyone else’s lives, but here I was, saying goodbye to someone I had only just said hello to, in person, weeks before. It was the single most painful experience of my life, but it was a pain that I accepted. It was a pain worth enduring, and I would suffer through that moment again and again for as long as I’ll live if it means even one moment by his side.

The days following his return home were long, exhausting and seemingly endless. It would be six months before we met again, and six months seemed so far out of view.

Only weeks ago, I was on the phone with Ryan, and I cried as hard as I did in the airport. I could finally say “I miss you,” and those words tasted sour on my tongue. I begged him to come home and he said, “I’m coming home. Will you wait for me?” And like usual, I responded, “As long as it takes.”

I don’t know if I believe in fate, or destiny. But I do believe in a reason for all things. And in that same night, Ryan found the golden ticket. Not only do our spring breaks line up this year, he also found an unusually low priced plane ticket to Kansas City. Within a month of being back in England, we’ve already bought his next ticket. And March 16, 2016 will be the next greatest day of my life.