This dark is swirling,
stuck inside this house,
crawling and itching and building in my head,
the silence so loud, the shadows so quiet.
i wander, pulling a blanket over my shoulders,  
opening the back door and stepping out under constellations.
The wind is cold and cars move in the distance,
small lights heading to their little homes.
  the street is illuminated below our balcony,
barley aglow in the new fog.
I lean into the rustling wind, resting my arms on the cold railing.
I hear a whisper in the back of my mind,
quiet and comforting, the way God always speaks to me.
This invitation to talk to the heavens, to the quiet world.
And it's all I can do,
to talk about you.
I look up at the moon and tell it about how you laugh.
tears slip past my cheeks as i tell the angels how sweet you are,
and how you hide it.
I tell God how strong you are, as if he doesn't know.
And I'm comforted,
because we talk to the same god, under the same sky.
And maybe one day, it'll be okay again.
so I go inside and walk up to my room.
I close my eyes, under my covers, and dream of you.