It's the color of her eyes; the color of the sea. In both you could drown, or find God himself. It's the space between cities. Road signs & right turns, and the quiet determination to unravel in her arms. The sheets on her bed at 3am, where she whispers "I love you" and you've never been so sure of anything. The breath you exhale after you kiss her; it's the color of the blood pumping through your heart. The heart that she keeps beating. The heart that has her name written all over it. It's the heaviness in anticipation. The insatiable desire for a minute, just one minute. It is not the opposite of passion, like once suggested. It is passion itself. It is the sound of whispers. Her breath on your neck, and shivers down your spine. The color that fills in the weeks until you see her again. But most importantly, it will always be the color of her eyes. And it is no coincidence they are the color of the sea.

I. I know which veins are the safest for needle entry; which areas will hurt, and at which angle the needle should be inserted. And I know, too, that once the needle is in, removing blood from the human body is nearly effortless. I explained all of this to you once. In the trunk of my car, there is enough equipment to remove all of the blood from my body.

II. It's storming outside. Flashes of lightning illuminate my bedroom. We talked about storms often. You asked me if I was scared.

III. The sound of your laugh runs through my head louder than thunder. I remember when I used to imagine what it would sound like. Now it plays on repeat. My favorite song.

IV. Some mornings I wake up in a panic. I dream in your language.

V. The first time you told me you loved me was the only time I had ever been surprised to hear anyone say it. I can't describe what that felt like, and I don't know if I will feel it again. Sometimes I think that was the last thing I had left to feel for the first time.

VI.

VII. You are gone.

Something about how I still look for your face in everyone else's, or
Something about how I still shout "I miss you" into the void.
Write something
Everyone says,
"Write something,"
But all I can think of is the way you said my name.  
So I'll write something about how I am more banned book than girl,
Something about how miles away feels too close now,
Something about never wanting to hold a hand again.
(But I am not, and it is not, and I do.)

This is the best I can do.  
Something about how my love crossed an ocean,
And something about how you never wanted it to travel there in the first place.