There is a tree in my room. It sheds leaves that look like everything I have ever lost. I put them in bags and take them outside to burn, as if it would stop the leaves from falling all together, but I know theyβll be back.
You are the ghost of all the people I have loved and been loved by, that feeling I get when I remember what it felt like to be touched by someone who meant it.
You are the fear when I realize I destroy most things I touch and am unworthy of ever learning to say your name.
You are a poem that my weary hands have yet to learn how to write. They tremble with so many words wanting to bleed out.
You are the empty spot in my bed when there is so much room that it aches.
You are a planet full of beautiful things I have never seen, so many light years away that I could not possibly scale or comprehend the distance.
I am tired. My heart canβt trace your shadow for much longer.