My head, it pounds. My knees, they are weak.

I’ve stepped outside of the cave you’ve built. There is no sunlight here, but there is air. There is a vast emptiness I never knew existed in my world. Empty laughs echo. I can feel hands on the back of my neck, and they creep down. I want to close my eyes, but I fear what I may find on the underside of my eye lids. I can almost remember you, but the feeling is so faint it slips away with the wind. My ribs feel broken. I want to say your name, but I know you will not answer. You are simply much too far away. (That is, if you still exist.)

There is something beautiful about the sky, that makes me feel as if my feet are hovering off the ground. I want to grab on to a star, and hope it swings me in your direction. I wait for a satellite to pass, but my eyes are already swollen from the thought that you may have already forgotten.

I want to give my heart to the moon, but I know by now I’m never getting it back from you. I guess the truth is, if you can’t have my heart, I don’t want it either. It makes me wish that you stayed.

You told me you’d be coming back. But when?