When you told me you still loved me, the same words escaped my lips before my mind could process what happened.
We stayed up all night exchanging hidden memories; sleep became insignificant when you explained not wanting to awaken, and find our declarations to have been a dream.
Fast forward to now. Here I am. Petitioning every night that when I wake up in the morning, the phrase “He’s gone”, will be some sort of fraudulent nightmare.
I have tried to shatter the sky with my screams, anticipating some form of your luminosity will hold my voice quiet.
When that didn’t work, I sat in stillness, waiting to hear if you would break this inescapable silent treatment.
Waiting to hear if your laugh would pierce through the night, followed by my name.
Waiting to hear if you would answer the list of questions I have thrown at the atmosphere.
Expecting to find for at least one moment, that you are still somewhere.
The only thing worse than you not responding, is knowing that you are unable to.
They say I should be thankful for the nights I got to sleep by your side, but I am too selfish to be satisfied by each sunrise that pulled us out of bed.
How relieved we were as we reimagined our lives together; finding that every missing piece was the shape of one another.
How we planned for the future as if it were promised to us.
How we whispered about knowing our paths were going to eventually lead us right back to each other.
How you said nobody knew you quite like I did, but everybody knew exactly who they wanted you to be.
You said nobody could follow our drifting minds like we could; truth is, I learned so long ago to fill a balloon with the helium of your thoughts, and fly on your words to the location of their meaning.
Yesterday, it was supposed to storm; the sun decided to shine instead.
Tonight, I caught rain water in a glass jar, and you laughed. And when I say you laughed, I mean thunder echoed, and I named that you.
Tomorrow, I will find a way to make my existence proof that you did.