Sitting in the forest,
The birds call to me.
They sing their songs,
Conversations to one another that I
Cannot even begin to understand,
Yet I somehow feel included. It’s better than
Listening to the wind rush past the empty space next to me.
The empty space where you used to be.

Looking up,
The green of the trees all blurs together,
Like camouflage against the bright blue sky.
The bark on the trees is decaying and peeling off,
Just like the paint on your old blue car.

We used to sit out here for hours,
Talking above the birds,
Conversations about what seemed so unimportant.
Your cheeks would flush a bright shade of pink from the cold,
A sharp contrast against the paleness of your skin.
The wind whipped our hair in front of our faces,
We’d laugh and say we hadn’t been trying to look nice anyways.

Now alone, it’s different.
The wind is more like a reminder of
A time that seemed so long ago.
It whispers the memories into my ears, making my heart ache.
They say that heartbreak isn’t a physical thing, that it’s all inside your head,
But I think they’re lying.
You’ll know it if you felt it. Like someone has reached inside of you,
Ripped your heart from your chest, and stomped on it. Grinding it into the forest floor,
Where all of the memories are buried.

I keep thinking that if I keep sitting here, the cold numbing my fingers,
Maybe you’ll show up. Maybe I’ll hear the crunching of leaves under your feet,
Signaling your presence.
You’d hold your arms out to me, and I’d walk into them.
Your arms would warm my body
Like when we used to sit around the fire.
But all I feel is emptiness,
A space in my heart left unfilled
With you I feel at home,
Now I’m just alone.