I tell you while you’re sleeping so the stars can hear it too. I’ve written it on your sleeves for when we decided not to speak. I’ve said it so many times my voice refuses to let it out. Its a wonder how you can still hear me. 

I swear I haven’t slept at all since you’ve been away. I’m doing something much different when the sun goes down. 

I saw the stars last night. You can’t see them here like I can there. And all I could think of is how I wanted to rip each one out of the sky for you. I’d pick one out and put one away every day for a year. I would construct a net the size of New York City just to tuck them all away. They’ve been dead longer than you have, so they wouldn’t mind. I’d string the big dipper on your ceiling and the little on mine. I hope they would feel at home with you the way that I do. 

Because I started wearing yellow when you told me the summer held your best days and I laughed because you told me once that you liked my smile. I learned every word of your favorite song so I could sing it to you when you needed to hear it. I burnt down your house because you wanted to run away. I ripped up every one of your floor boards because you had nowhere to hide. I pulled the moon to your doorstep and now the whole world is underwater because you told me you just wanted to float. I’d do it everyday and I’d do it ten times over because it’s what you wanted. It’s what I wanted. 

Please don’t go away. 

Because I have stars that light up under the floorboards when I step on them and I sleep in a house that’s on fire. And the water is still up to my neckline. I’m afraid if you leave that I’ll sink.