You were so sad.

It started as waterweight, splashing around the corners of your eyes.
I could see the ocean.
You blinked once, and it was gone. I wanted to ask how come you're walking with your head down. Why are you studying the grooves in the asphalt as if it explains in some ancient text why you're dragging around your shoelaces in a cold September night.  

I wanted badly to prescribe you the medicine I remembered taking when the lips that bruised my soul became the knuckles that knocked my knees down.
I saw the universe in big ugly splotches-- purple, green, blue, spinning, spinning. You can't look me in the eye, I know.
I can't touch your cheek, I know.

But I can do this. I can write you a note that would casually show up. I can write a few sentences saying I get you-- I get you. You were alone when the collision of his skin against your temple made the ceiling dance. You were alone when you awaken one cold Sunday with laces torn around your ankles and the roses blooming on your favorite sheets. You were alone when you drove away, thinking that maybe the impact from steel to concrete wouldn't be so bad, it can't be that bad...

You were alone then. Let me tell you; You are not alone now.

I got you. I got you.