I am the Walrus.

If I lived for only a year

I would help you steal the salt from the sea.

I would stare into soft-edged mornings with you

And wonder where the edge of the night lies--

If it meets at the ends, or if it stretches only as far 

We talked in music. In the middle of the night, when I’d fall asleep to the highest string of his beaten-up guitar quivering in the dark, he’d draw mirages behind my eyes. I’d hear the undertones of minor chords under whispered dialogue, melody layered under melody. 

I knew him by the heaviness of his footsteps, the depth of his breathing, the curve of his spine behind mine. He was more natural than air. There were nights when he didn’t come home and I didn’t sleep at all. I don’t know what bound me to him, what made me lay awake for hours waiting to feel his side of the pillow cave in.