I am cleaning up the shattered plates and not knowing if you will come back. There are 15 different shades of sadness I have found in this world. Right now I feel them all. We keep falling in distant places, and I think you don’t want me to miss you, don’t want to be loved, but my bones are sinking and I just keep seeing memories of us. We are wasted without the rivers that help us meet, bottles of wine that turn my lips and cheeks pink. Turn yours red. Flush your freckled cheeks and hands until you turn the tap. Do you remember the night we drew baths in separate places, pretending it was home? Mountain songs outside the window and dew collecting on our breath and some sort of warrior call just beginning to build its force. Please follow it now. Trace its path in the space between pages and find the waves that will coat your bones in the river you were born into, eight years before my own, red-lipped and frightened then, too. Chasing something that we still haven't found.