i want to tell you

i’m up late tonight, playing that Leon Bridges song you like —
chewing on this pen and fucking up my gums.

when i think about it now, the day you left looks like a wildfire — a forest of vibrant green marred black by a change in the wind.

do you remember that day we watched the ducks slip around on the half-frozen pond?

we gave them names and backstories and accents

or was that just me?
was it always just me?

i want to tell you that it was the first time i felt nostalgic for the exact moment i was in.

i think you have some moon in your blood
and i am perhaps part seawater
because i am pulled to you, constantly —
even with miles and seasons between us.

i want to tell you that what remains instead is what remains unsaid —
you dissolve me into something complete.