This piece was loosely based on an experience that I've been noticing lately, where occasionally when walking around I'll encounter a brief but intense flash of frustration that immediately slips away as soon as I notice it. I don't know where it comes from and the moment I'm aware of it enough to 
introspect on the cause it vanishes. My best guess is that I'm just too anxious to get to where I'm going. Sometimes I think that we take for granted how much of life is spent bridging gaps between experiences that we find more "meaningful" with periods of transit or maintenance (eating, sleeping, etc), and it is during these times that sometimes I feel like "jumping out of my skin" so to speak. "distance stretches past movement" is my attempt to capture these elusive feelings, imagine what such a jump would look like, and perhaps keep in mind that it can't be made (and probably shouldn't if it could); maybe a better way is to recontextualize these interim periods as meaningful in and of themselves.