I close my eyes and can't seem to recall the how Ivan's lashes pan from his eyelids- like leaves reaching for sunlight and the exact shade of his eyes.

Did distance do that to me, or did I do that to myself?

Of course, complexity is an invited stranger in my head. It's never really as difficult as I make it sound. Platonic love is an irony of its own, and I can say I've felt too much of it.