By Daisy Suman 
There is a space between you and me.
This space was not there in the beginning. You were me and I was you.
Then I made a wish.
I dreamed your perfect face and your perfect form. And in doing so, I created this. This space between you and me.
It was hard for me, at first. To see you separate from me. After all, you were my extension, my ascension into the next life. You were supposed to be all me. How could you be any different?
So, I nourished you and taught you to be the best me. How to walk like me, talk like me, eat like me, sleep like me, feel, and even think like me. Yes, just like me.
And for a moment, you were me and I was you.
But there is a space between you and me.
I am all of your yesterdays before this space, but only a fraction of your today. You are all of my tomorrows after I fade, but only a fraction of my now. No, I am not all of you and you are never all of me.
There is a space between you and me.
It took me a while to accept, to see how you are not my path to glory, not my second chance at redeeming forgotten dreams. After all, you came with your own set of human things.
Things that move me, claim me, and chain me in this world were never meant to bind you. No, my journey is not your journey. Your heart sings a different song. Your eyes see a different dream. I don’t live through yours and you don’t live through mine.
There is a space between you and me.
This space began as a singularity, a speck. And for a moment, it was just that and nothing more. But it widened in a quest for independence–a couple of minutes, a couple of inches at a time. As if to mimic this universe of ours, this space keeps expanding, unnoticed by us, through every tick-tock and every chime of our dwindling days. And I wonder–I worry–how far and wide will it grow?
How far and wide can it grow?
This space feeds on my ego. It probably will on yours too when you get a bit older. My anger, my frustrations, my projections onto you, it devours it all up. It can grow quickly and grotesquely bloated–beyond amends–if I am not careful. When I am not careful.
I tend to forget often, but this space between you and me is sacred. It has to be revered to be contained. There is no place for pride in it. Never! My turbulence has to be set aside and my calm invoked before I enter.
I need to slice through layers of pretense and open up my soul to traverse this space, unconditional and unjudging. Yes, this space can shrink. But only with complete surrender, the melting away of my vanity. After all, isn’t it the only way to pray?
But let me tell you a secret. All these words? This talk about distance and space? This is not the definition or the degree of our affinity. Not in the least! This space is not all that there is, between you and me. We are bound by something more, something deeper, something innate.
That umbilical cord which was created at the precise moment of the birth of this space binds us together by its magic. When it was cut, it did not divide us and disintegrate. No. It just morphed and fused into the air we breathe, surrounding us, knitting us into this unique tapestry for life–of me, being your mother, and of you, being my child. It is the kite line that helps you soar above the clouds, yet returns you safely home when the day is done. I can sense its tug when you are in need and we are pulled back together in a second.
And that connection, that feeling is the only thing worth remembering, the only thing that matters.
Because this space between you and me was, is and will always be a moment’s notice away. One pull of joy, of sorrow, of despair, of fear, of every possible human emotion, and I am standing right next to you, ready and receiving, no questions asked. And in that moment, this space between you and me dissolves back into nothingness. And in that nothingness, there is no You and there is no Me–just us, again.
For in that moment, I am the voice of your heart and you are the song in mine.
by Chelsi Cacciatore 
by Krystal Sieben 
by Joy McLaughlin 
by JD Arbuckle 
by Valerie Sawicki-Bellomo 
