Something rusty broke in me tonight and I found myself crying over you for the first time in so long. You are just in the other room, but I've been mourning your loss for so long.
You have been gone for so long from me.
You are an absence, a space of air. Your ghost occasionally appears to give me false hope, only to fade into oblivion. Slipping through my fingers like foam and lost to the tide.
I'm tired of this un-love. I'm tired of not being able to write you love poems. You receive only dry husks of leaves and the residue of salt. You receive only the absence that you give. You receive nothing, because there is nothing else I am willing to risk.
You receive nothing.
