I think you might be contagious. Because my knees are sore and my back is breaking and I’m almost positive one of these days I’m going to shatter to the ground if you don’t hold me together.

It’s funny how many ways I can be angry. I’m furious. I’m angry at them, at everyone. My myself, at her, for bringing me you. Except I can’t thank her enough. I have a novel of reasons why. Like the fact that I would cross the whole world for you, but you’d still be on the other side. Like when we cross our worlds and someone always manages to fall asleep in the back seat. And no matter how many times I reset the stars, as soon as the lights come on, they’re gone. And you’re not here and I’m not there and we’re everywhere we don’t want to be. I’ve got this handful of words that don’t make sense but I use them anyway, because they remind me of you. 

And I’d
write
like you

but

you’d still be gone

and

I can’t seem to
bring you
back.

And I don’t mind that I’m bruised. Because they stay longer than you ever could. I’m not mad, it doesn’t bother me.

Stretching the 8 minutes, you know?  

I’m trying to come up with a way to explain why things are the way they are. I need to convince myself things are going to be alright more than I’d ever need to convince you. 

I’ve counted off a list for every mile in every constellation but I only have a few minutes left and I don’t want to walk across the ice on my floor to make it alright again. 

I miss you and you haven’t even left yet.