When I think of you,
And I think of me,
I think of the tides.
Because whenever we drift apart,
We will always meet again.

You are the ebb and I am the flow.

We may be flung oceans apart
by cracks in the head and rips
in the heart
that ruptured

And flooded with grief –
a lava-storm that pierced our lungs
(and our tears may pour out just as easily)

but remember:

The moon governs the tides.

They are her children:
She hugs them close
and spins them in silver-silk (fairy dust?)
so they are never far away, not really.
They will always meet again.

So when I miss you,
When you think the rain is too much to withstand,
When you believe the sky is too heavy for the ocean to hold,
When you feel your lungs are pierced and the sea is rising in your throat,

Close your eyes and hear the stars’ lullaby:
The moon is calling you.

Remember:

You are the ebb and I am the flow

and we will always meet again.