I used to have this dream that there would be someone out there somewhere that when they read the words I put down on paper, they would be able to feel them. Touch them. Through me. They would just know, because my words were powerful enough to reach them. The words that I would tie together to form beautiful illustrations about the way a connection was made, a spark ignited, a kiss lingered. I would put them out there, and I knew no matter where you were, you were reading them.
I can feel your hands petting my hair. Pulling my hair. I’m lost in this moment. I can see you standing in the distance, lighting a cigarette. I can’t get to you. There’s something in between us. You won’t answer the door. The phone. My screams. I’m too much. I’m not enough. All this space is echoing and ringing in my ears. You’re biting my shoulder and touching the core of me, I can feel your weight on me, it’s crushing me, perfectly. I’m shaking. I love you.
I wrote our names in the sand, the waves washed them away. I wrote our names in the stars, the clouds hang low these days. I wrote our names across my heart, and I’m bleeding out. But I will say your name with my last words. Because the echo of you is more than anything else I’ve known.