It’s two in the morning and my fingers ignore my brain and begin searching for your name hidden at the bottom of my messages; our last words escape me, but I almost cave and say hello
almost forget myself and tell you I miss the ways we used to cradle each other’s air in one another’s hand
allowing space for us to relearn how to breathe
I never thought I’d be learning without you
The roots of our chakras begin to snap beneath us and I’ve lost my balance
as if you were keeping me upright this whole time and I almost tell you I’m here in case you forget what it means to feel strong
I almost tell you to let me carry the burden of trying to hold up everyone but yourself
I almost tell you
but instead
I delete the draft
Never ask you about your day
Pretend I don’t crave your telepathy
Meanwhile I’m lying herd hoping you’ll
feel what I’m sending you
But our wavelengths splintered and shattered so long ago I’m not sure I can recall what it meant to be so known