my head misses you like it’s seasick at home and homesick for the sea by the side of a road;
it keeps drawing up the spaces that used to be filled by your presence and coming up empty; there’s an indent in my bed the shape of your body.
the day the moon fell over the sun it smelt like the ocean where i was and all i could think about while the partial eclipse burned my retinas and forced my lungs inside out: how lucky i was — to be alive; how much is missing when i close my eyes and open them to find blurry blotches of light but not you; how i would have gone blind if it meant i could stop looking for signs between forgone hellos and the common goodnight.