We like to believe love is free.
But step into any airport, any bus park, any border, and you’ll see the truth: distance always sends a bill. Every goodbye is a transaction. Every reunion an exchange rate. Every silence a debt we can never quite pay.
The Currency of Distance is a meditation on what absence costs us — in airports where children cling to parents, in cities where lovers sleep apart, in homes where family calls cross oceans. It’s about the way technology tries to discount love but never settles the hunger.
It’s about the fragile math of memory, silence, and longing. This is not an essay about travel. It’s about the economics of the heart. About how miles break us open and make us honest in ways cathedrals never do.
