I often find myself thinking about how the stars resemble your skin when the night is clear.
I lose my breath to the wind and wait for it to return to me
While blades of grass tickle my feet,
And I wonder how long it’s been since you did the same.
How long?
How long has it been since you chose dancing with comets and sleeping in nebulas over spending another night in this self-destructive world?
I can’t say I blame you.
I speak volumes to your tombstone in hopes that you can hear me,
But I know that every psalm and sonnet and soliloquy I preach to you is just a plea to the void.
There’s a theory that says organs are conscious and contain memories while they’re alive;
I can’t help but wonder if memories of us are leaking out of yours now.
I’ve been trying to feel your soul again in every way possible,
But the only place I find a real glimpse of you is in myself.
So I’ve been searching places that should represent you—
The park,
The library,
Your school,
Your work,
Your house—
Your house has become a black hole that I’m drawn to only to be crushed by your absence.
And before I know it I’m in your room again,
Convincing your mother not to pack up your things just yet while I soak in your bed sheets,
Trying to take in any physical remnants of you that may be left,
even if it is just a faint scent.
But no man-made environment will ever be comparable to you;
There’s no way a place would be able to fully embody your essence.
So I seek you in the ethereal things that they say were created by some Holy One—
The stars for your freckles,
A breeze for your breath,
The grass for your hands,
The moon for your eyes,
The sun for your smile,
The ocean for your passion,
And the forests for your spirit.
The only comfort I can find is in foolishly pretending that you are all around me in these celestial bodies;
Always present,
Always listening,
Always watching.
I kept hoping that the universe was smaller than we believed,
So maybe you’d reach the edge and bounce back to return to me some day.
But I’ve realized since then that if you could prevent it in any way you would never return here.
Despite this, I will continue searching for you in case you change your mind,
But I won’t expect anything anymore.
And for now,
I’ll keep any pieces of you that I find in my pockets and stitch them together when I long for you—
Maybe one day I’ll have sewn a quilt that’s large enough to cover the holes your departure has left me