I once a long time ago dismissively referred to this work as Makoto Shinkai’s “elegiac rumination on lost loves, scooters, and a love letter to…Japan Railways.” Actually…I still hold to that statement. Though beyond that, the most important aspect to this film is what it’s meant to make you feel. Because that’s the root of the appeal of this work even to this day, where hearing just a few bars of the instrumental version of “One More Chance, One More Time,” the theme song by Masayoshi Yamazaki to the climactic final chapter of the movie can bring a swell of emotions to the mind from their depths in one’s memory.

The journey itself is a long slog, but it’s there to heighten the feelings of separation and yearning that Takaki is feeling. When he finally gets to see Akari, all too briefly, they share a kiss and create a moment that will affect them both quite differently in the years to come.

As we pass onto the second section, “Cosmonaut,” we see Takaki relocated to Kagoshima. Here, we can already see some of the psychic damage he has taken from his separation from Akari, largely self-inflicted as he can’t move past her even though he has gained the attention of a local girl, Kanae Sumita. In what can only be thought of as hit-you-over-the-head irony, the backdrop to this middle chapter is space launches and the contrast between the great distances that space ships cover to Takaki being stuck in place, no matter how much he rides around on a scooter (this is the scooter segment) is impossible to miss.

The middle creates a lot of frustration and I believe that that is intended. Takaki is frustrated that he cannot be with Akari and yet he’s incapable of trying to make even a fruitless attempt to hold onto her since, well, you know there are things called email and phone calls and even…gasp!…writing an old fashioned letter on smooth sheets of dead tree pulp flattened into a surface you can write on. So, he is likely also frustrated at himself for not having the resolve or courage to contact Akari. Kanae is also a bit frustrated, since Takaki is too much of a blockhead to recognize that, in the words of the old song, “if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” The door to Happiness is ajar, but Takaki doesn’t even see it.

It is the final portion where we see that secondary title come greatest into play, this “chain of short stories about their distance.” For now as a young adult, Takaki has returned to Tokyo, found work and even a girlfriend, but he’s incapable of moving on from the image of Akari that he holds in his heart and in his mind. Do not mistake this for the real Akari; we see the real Akari as well, learning that she has moved on in life and found a man she will soon marry. When going through some of her old belongings in her parents’ house, she finds her childhood letters to and from Takaki and it brings up warm and wistful memories—but they are only that, memories. She fell in love. It was wonderful. And then it ended.

Tohno by contrast is trapped and we, the viewers, are trapped with him. After all, we are only presented with Takaki’s story this whole time. We do not see how Akari came to turn the memory of their love into a treasure, cherished but safely stored away (literally in a box), while we have seen how Takaki was eaten away by their separation.

The final chapter, “5 Centimeters Per Second,” is about all the emotions that come out of unrequited love: the pain, the longing, the anger (both at oneself and directed towards the one who in the frustrated lover’s mind should love you but doesn’t), the heartbreak, the sorrow and finally the downward spiral into depression.

Perhaps by focusing on distance, Shinkai is attempting to provide an answer (for there are likely as many answers as people) to the age-old question “Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” His answer seems to be mixed, as for Akari it’s a clear yes as she was able to turn their snowy kiss into a fond memory of youth. For Takaki, we have to wonder. For that first love has not opened, but instead locked away his heart. He locked it himself and gave the only key to Akari…who has put it away in a box forever. A clean break, perhaps Takaki learning that Akari has forgotten about him and is marrying another, might allow him to move on, to break the lock on his own heart and allow another to enter it. One of the final most powerful images, Takaki looking longingly at a woman at a railway crossing after the gates have lowered, shows that he is trapped in the past.

Lost loves. Scooters. Japan Railways. That might jokily summarize the content (though you’d have to include cherry blossoms, too). But that does not capture at all the real thrust of Makoto Shinkai’s 5 Centimeters per second – a chain of short stories about their distance. The beauty of first love, any love. The longing and anxiety caused by separation. The frustration born of prolonged absence. And finally, the pain of a love that is no longer shared, not because the other party has dumped you, but because events kept you separated to the point where the other party has put you aside, forgotten you. But you cannot let go.