I want to shout at you at the top of my lungs, want to ask - no, demand that you come home to me right this instance.

I go somewhere and all I can think about is God I wish you were here, with me, seeing what I’m seeing, feeling what I’m feeling.

Almost every night I dream of you, and almost everyday I get mad at myself for waking up.

she is eighteen. during her birthday party, the boy she loves dances with her in front of her extended family. she is proud, and happy, and her worries are stored silently in the very back of her mind. sometimes they pop up, but she shoos them away with a wave of her hand. she is strong, and there is still a hint of who she used to be. (it is like a dim lamp, barely there but still shining.) her world is growing bigger and she does not know it yet.

she is twenty. she is lost, and confused, and she does not seem to remember who, or how, she used to be. she feels like a liar, unsure, like a moth swearing up and down that it was supposed to turn into a butterfly. she cannot read, or draw, or write anymore - her heart is gone and her head is stuck somewhere up in the clouds. but the boy stays, and he pulls her hand down when he feels she might float away, and he tells her it is okay to not be the best because the best is overrated anyway. he says he will accept her, help her find her old self or discover a new one in the process. he will give her his heart in exchange for the one she can't find, and in it she will find the bravery she needs to look at how vast her world has suddenly become. "i am here," he tells her, and she believes him, just a little bit. that was enough.

the sky is dark outside, the rain biding its time.

he could feel her anxiety rolling off like waves on the beach, imagining how cold the foam must feel on bare feet.

"you've just been cooped up in your room too long," he replies gently. "why don't you spend some time in your garden once the sun's out?"

"it's not that," she says. "i just... don't feel like me."

she sighs and he winces, and there is silence, because really, when someone tells you that, what could you possibly tell them back?

it goes on for a while, and just before she apologizes for bothering him with her silliness, he says, "that's okay, i'll keep you company then, even if it's just through the phone. you can talk about anything, about your planets and your greek gods and why you think you don't feel like you, and i'll listen, i'll be patient, and i'm sure somehow, along the way, amongst the many, many words you're sure to say, we'll find the answer. let's find it together."

"there won't be any flowers this valentines day," she replies, her words careful and soft. "i told him i wouldn't accept it unless he gave it to me in person. he's nine thousand kilometers away from me though, so that's not happening any time soon."