I’ll barely eat,
and cry in my car before work.
Meanwhile I’ll trick everyone into
thinking I’m no longer
sifting through the wreckage
of us.

I guess I knew I’d be lucky to
see forever with you.
That the odds were not in my favor.
All I’ve ever wanted was to be enough
to keep you happy
even if sometimes it meant sacrificing my own.
I’d still walk 1,000 miles for you.
But now I’m sitting in my car
with a biscuit in my lap
and Noah strumming through
my radio.
Last night I had a dream you were there,
And you said you missed me.
I still need to know if you miss me.

Missing you feels like there is a hole
in the atmosphere.
I have tried to ignore it,
go about my day and let it go
but it always hits me the hardest
when I realize you’re never
coming home.

I took off the necklace that carried your
initial that I bought myself to let
others know I was yours,
and then took a shot of the liquor I had
in my passenger seat.
I flipped down the mirror and looked at
my fresh highlights that I got to try
to erase you from my head.
But I still feel lost on an island,
abandoned at a truck stop.
I’ve been fighting off the urge to call you,
and the urge to drink
and the urge to go off the rails.
I can’t stop thinking about how nice it must be
to be you today,
so happy and so certain with never seeing me again.
I’m still waiting on a morning where I wake up
and the first thing I want isn’t you.

When I think about you
it feels like a desperate plea.
My brain is screaming for you,
my heart is begging.
I miss you so bad.
This is the most pain I’ve ever felt,
a sense of abandonment that I don’t
think will ever be resolved.

You were born one year and seven days before me.
And it took me 23 to find you.
All together I may have gotten 3 beside you.
It wasn’t enough,
but it also felt like a lifetime.
I felt destined to be with you,
like we were created in the stars.
How can a connection that felt cosmic
just be handled so poorly.
It’s like we got caught in a painting that
never got finished,
half of the canvas left empty.

I am still standing here on the side of the road,
bags in hand.
Like you opened the door and shoved me out,
said you’d come back later.
The sun is setting though,
and it’s getting cold.
I’m beginning to think you aren’t
coming back.