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Proximity, or "nearness," has much to do with the fate of relationships.

And I’m not the only one who thinks this. I fell really hard for a guy two years ago, who told me he gave up on it because he lived in Brooklyn and I was in Jersey. We had two rivers and Manhattan separating us. It would never work, he said. And I couldn’t help but agree; it was too far.

If you knew each other/lived near each other when the relationship started and then due to circumstance had to become long-distance, that is an entirely different story. I’m not talking about that. My last boyfriend lived three hours away, but we had known each other well for 10 years before we started dating. Only seeing each other on weekends and the occasional weekday was okay with me, being the busy person that I am. But then I met someone even more perfect for me around the corner from my house. It was inevitable. We were insanely attracted to each other and he was a stone’s throw away. And it was easy to have our own lives during the week but still have a sleepover, like, every night.

How easy is it to become intrigued by the person who starts talking to you at the party or on the train? At least, for that moment. When someone is near you, they have the ability to capture your attention, and you can fleetingly forget everyone else. It was and is so easy for me to forget how much I liked Mr. Connecticut because he’s not around, and there are so many men that are. I’m willing to bet that the guy most perfect for me lives somewhere like oh, say, Argentina, and that I will never meet him.

How much does the development of a relationship—even a friendship—depend on how geographically close you are to the other person?


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