It feels like I flew through dimensions and left my body behind before coming back and being in disrupted coherence with the way my fingers trace your jawline and how much a touch ignites a soulful consonance with breathing and hope.
It was having bad reception and losing my senses all at once and have them back a second later only to realize they have been dulled by the loss and the age old transition from now to then and then to now.
It was spending my nights writing about what you felt like, what your soul made me feel even when your lips say nothing at all, what I hear when your hand lightly brushes against mine and to document it all so that when you leave, I'll have something to remember you by.
It felt like having avalanches happen in your chest every time you look in his eyes because something in you gives when you think up the words you want to say but keep to yourself.

So I'll leave it to my imagination to draw the lines and create the realities that leave me wishing I was more dead than alive.