I want to write. I want to ramble on and on about the symphonies of my breathing and the adrenaline of adventure soaring through my desires. I want to elaborate on elaboration. I want my heart to spill out with the roll of my tongue. I want to invite you in. I want to walk the ground of every culture and discover the hidden secrets in the nooks and crannies of the world. But I've lost my muse.

You flashed a smile and I felt a novel unraveling. I began to trace the words written in the way you carry yourself, so reserved. Each breath a sentence. Every move a paragraph spelling out the dance of our bodies so perfectly in sync. I flip through the pages of your essence and become mortified by how easily I'm lost in you. You've taken me in with every chapter as you unlock yet another story. An entire series, and I'll never be able to finish you. I'll spend an eternity engulfed in your story, finding every misspelling and wrinkled page, and kissing your words until my lips are stained black. Then you start writing me in. I sit back, watching as the pages rustle and turn as my breath is forced from my lungs. The binding comes undone as your fingers amble along the curve of spine. I look up, and in your eyes I can see the end is far, far away.

But what if I give in
lie down
close my eyes
fall asleep
and

It's like skydiving. You weigh out the possibilities: the negatives, the positives. You talk yourself in and out of it ten, twenty, thirty times. Your heart never stops racing. You soar, all the way to the highest possible altitude. You're feeling more alive than you've ever felt, and you build up the courage to take the risk, the potentially fatal leap.  
You convince yourself it's worth it.
Then you jump.
And you fall.
It's beautiful: the view, the freedom, the rush.
You keep falling.
And falling.
But there's no parachute.

I saw his smile in the clouds. The buzz of conversation on the subway was the haunting sound of his beautiful laughter. The wind in the trees was his gentle touch. The radio played the sweet melody of those three little words on repeat. Falling into bed at night was being wrapped in his arms.
  The darkness of the night was the  abandonment that swallowed me. The stars outlined the path of his footsteps out the door and into a life that no longer featured me. The coyote calling out to the moon was the sound of my heart begging his memory to escape me.