The sun is holding everything together. I will love you from all the way over here.

I will love you over billions of years, silently, achingly. I wish I could pull you closer to me, but I am afraid you would burn.

Lately, I wish a lot of things were different. One of the harder parts I have been dealing with: living with regret. I want to undo things that I can’t take back.

They have happened, and I have done them, and that’s that. Life moves on. People go to work. Babies are born. People die. And I am here, wishing that things had been different.

If I could, I would put a big pair of headphones over the earth and play you the sweetest song. I do not want to choose for you. I have chosen enough. I have chosen too much. Now, it is your turn to choose.

Which song would you play? Would it be one of ours? One that makes you cry? I wonder what it is like to see from your eyes. How beautiful it must be.

Truth: I have thought about you every day. I think of small things. I think of the movements in between, how I knew it was ending, how I wanted so badly to hold on just a little longer.

I wanted to memorize every facet of your face, every divot in your rib. I wanted and wanted, so much that it confused me. It hurts more holding on to something than it does to let it free.

Yet, the weight of your absence is like no other. The earth moved from orbit. The axis of my world has shifted, in ways both good and bad. The sun is so beautiful. I can cry without it becoming me.

Who have I become? I wish you could know me now. I wish we could pass by each other, and I would look at you with warmth and smile, remembering.

The summer with the birds by your apartment, all of them singing in unison. The shared smiles from across the room, across the couch, across the pillow. Your big laugh, the way it took up so much space. When I hear my voice, sometimes it sounds like yours.