Maybe It's Time
I hear it’s worse when you’re alone.
Think of restless nights curled up under plum-colored sheets, incessantly aware of the world outside the window to your backside. The soft wistfulness of sleeping souls and the stillness of the streets below.
You can’t help but think of the way he looked on the silvered city street that August midnight.
You wonder where he is now.
You look at the time and know he’s awake.
You wonder if he’s thinking of you.
You imagine him beside you and feel the warmth of his skin. Suddenly you’re hit with the memory of how he held you when you said goodbye. The emptiness you’ve felt since you pulled apart that day feels more expansive somehow.
You squeeze your eyes shut and desperately count backwards from ninety nine.
You wonder how many other broken hearts are out there doing the same thing.