Alyson

Someday, I’ll write something that will make you understand how my insides have changed since I have known you.

I see you in everything and everyone. You’re never in the room but always in my mind, which almost makes your absence OK, but never quite. Listen to “Hands Down” and “Heaven” and “I’ll Be Your Mirror” while drinking the tea I sent for your mother but that you took with you, because it smelled how you imagined I would. She doesn’t need to know what I smell like, not yet.

How many times can I say that I love you? I’m not used to depending on one word to explain a world, and Thesaurus.com cannot save me when I try to write an essay in a sentence, holding my space inside you for another couple hours.

I hope I’m what you think of when you imagine the other side of those walls. ♦