Reaching. Reaching out my hand Feeling the cool worn fabric Of the bed sheets accross from me, Where I would steal every star in space just to have your body laying there So that instead of finding The crushing emptiness that already Hangs in my ribcage, Tightening it's chilling grip as gently as such a malevolent force can, Instead of my finger tips encountering this as I stretch my arm out in the middle of another night I can't stop dreaming of your eyes the last time I ever saw them, I could maybe touch a trace of your existence again. I could feel the crippling weight in my chest be lifted as my grasping fingers grab hold of some piece of you. Any piece of you; your painstakingly bright smile, the light in your heart breakingly blue eyes that I still swear could power the New York skyline as long as you wanted it to, maybe the slow steady beat of your heart that I can still sometimes hear in our favorite song. Then maybe I could breathe again.