Naw, scratch that. Butterflies are cute and free but what’s churning in my gut is a storm. It’s violent air rising in my chest. I stop myself from breathing for fear I will exhale a hurricane. If I open my mouth to speak, it will sweep you off your feet; force you into flight.
I cannot run away from them. They look different every night but they whisper your name the same way. I run from the one with your face, only to stumble on one with your voice. They are everywhere around me. In my sleep, they invade the lost lands of my mind. They batter my heart with want— it pumps longing down my veins. I don’t know what blood is anymore. If I slit my veins, I am afraid nothing will bleed out. Am I still alive?
My eyes click away before I can stop them. The shutter lids go off— there you go walking; in the café, smiling, frowning, throwing your car keys in the air, laughing, slurping your ice cream, folding your hands under your chin as you listen to the her I cannot be, click, your eyes flicker on mine—
Stone-deaf. I cannot hear the world since you walked into my life.