Sometimes, when I wake in the belly of the night and find my sheets in tatters, and my pillow damp, my hair knotted and salty and stuck to my lips, my body wrangled, and my bedroom suddenly sounds and tastes like a churning, furious ocean dragging me under, then I think this feels like death: like you passed, and with you a half of me, too, and I am left with no resolution or closure or last words, with no sea bottom, no coast line; only a starless sky, only your surreal, sudden departure, and all these new depths, all this emptiness, dark and cold and consuming—
And then I lay awake, floating, the waves of memory, of mourning, rocking beneath me, thinking:
I am going through the motions of onward progression; but look, I am right where you left me—
So, come back—please.
