All the letters I should have sent

airplanes

Last night, I could feel the ghosts of your arms wrapped around me like my favorite blanket.
In the morning, I held on to you, with my fingers clutching the edge of the sheets. With my eyes closed. With my heart still hoping.
I silently wish I left some hair ties on your pocket.
Think of me when you fish them out with your fist.
Let my hair strands remind you of that summer we danced around the twilit clearings. You kissing the top of my head while I tripped helplessly in your crooked smile.
Back then, we are setting pieces of our infinities on fire.
Back then, we thought we're fathomless rainbows.
I want to rip that memory of you into a thousand tiny pieces. I want to scrub your warm breaths and laughs off my shoulders. I want to forget ever taking re-route roads to your memories, to places only us know existed.
It's been a while but I have never seen a take off of an airplane that doesn't look like you leaving.
And how my heart lets you loose like dandelions in the grassy fields of my chest. Think of me as I write this.
Half of what I say here don't mean anything, except that the other half means, I still love you.
And that whatever it is that's left in me still build runways for you, still waiting for your landing.

— c.a