The Crypt

Tell me that you have been dreaming of me. That you wake up in cold sweats, gulping in air. You feel like you’ve drowned. You wake up and still feel like you’re drowning. Tell me that you’ve spent a great deal of time gazing at stars, thinking that sometimes things look better farther apart. That constellations are only beautiful because we have the space to connect the dots. Now take it back. Tell me that you’re sorry. That you know we’re not stars. We’re just people. Tell me that you know there’s nothing poetic about plane tickets. Tell me that you want to buy them anyway. Ask me to stay.

If you tell me I can’t be sad because someone has it worse, I’m going to tell you that you can’t be happy because someone has it better.