I had a dream that you died last night.
I've told myself I was over you,
but I woke up crying.
You would always look at me so sadly
when I told you that I almost killed myself 8 times
and I never understood
why it shook you so much.

I always find myself
tracing my fingers over your spot on the bed,
hoping to feel your warmth once again.
You were a supernova,
and you always believed that burning out was
better than fading away.

We were no exception.

I dial your number sometimes,
hoping to hear your soft baritone voice
replace the harsh automated one.
"The number you have dialed is out of service."

I miss you,
and though the feeling is not mutual,
I still continue to write about it.
I love you,
and though the feeling is not mutual,
I still continue to be shaken by it.

I had a dream you died last night.
I told myself I was over you,
but I jumped after you in the dark.
"I love you."
*This is my way of burning out.