The day you left,
I forgot how to write.
I forgot the way it feels to feel my fingers wrap around a pen
and pour emotions in black ink into a white abyss of nothingness
filling it with words so that it doesn’t seem so empty
so terrifyingly alone.
Do you remember my fear of wide open blank spaces,
both dark and light?
You told me that blank white nothingness
is what it feels like to be at the centre of a star
just as it is falling apart.
I’m so sorry
I didn’t believe you.
I am there now,
and I know you weren’t lying.