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The moonlight pours through the blinds and penetrates the air like a sharpened blade.
My frosty fingers gently reach for the window, sliding the glass to reveal a winter breeze.
The luminescent moon touches my face and caresses my cheeks like a lost lover.
I take a deep breath, and my cold hands stroke the beds’ woolen blankets.
I am pulled back into the safety and comfort of slumber, and I remind myself I will be okay.
You taste like a lover I haven’t forgotten.
Your kiss sweet, yet not at all cloying.
The lingering traces of your lips left the faintest of scents,
only a whisper that fills my nose for a moment
before evaporating into nothing.
You’re taller than me, and my head rests in the crook of your neck
like a flower in a book,
and butterflies make my stomach their home.
I’m weightless for a moment, my feet supported by nothing at all.
I want to bury every moment with you in a diary,
but my fingers fumble as they try to keep up, and I’m left staring at an empty page.
I want to hold onto you and never let you go, but you’ve already flown far away.
You were once so close to me, and now, like so much else, you’re forever out of reach.
Leaving was a small thing,
a settling of the dust.
The single most abstract thing
I had ever done.
In that abstraction, I yearned for freedom.
But now I see that freedom
just means the ability to go anywhere
and still know that I’m loved.
I’m starting to understand that the body is just a map that can’t be read
and that the heart,
like a compass,
points all over the place.
I guess that’s why I’m here now,
to try to figure out what we lost.
But it’s like looking at a road map in the dark.
And all these nights alone,
they’ve turned into another kind of map,
an ocean chart of words that take you nowhere.
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