i miss you
but what is it
called when air
feels somehow
less like air
when you're
not here

i talked with my heart
and it still speaks of you
fluently and now i
wonder if hearts
keep in touch
after they break

and my greatest fear
is not in holding on
too long, but the moment
when my heart decides
it's time to let go

sometimes love gives us
butterflies and feels like
the perfect summertime
breeze. sometimes love
cures our soul and becomes
our north star. and when
we're really lucky, love
feels like the chaotic
precision of the universe
expanding in our heart