On a night so quiet that we could hear the stars whispering the secrets of the cosmos, you made me a promise.
You said you’d never leave me.
As I laid on my back in the grass and pondered the endlessness of infinity, I decided that a forever with no one but my older sister sounded pretty damn good.
You told me that I’m the thing that takes patience; that exists in the space where nothing else is capable of being.
I turned my head to look at you, and the moon bathed your face in an ethereal glow that told me our bond was given the unique privilege of being christened by the sky.
If I had known then what I know now, I would’ve told you to save that vow for another starry-eyed fool with skinned knees and blue jeans.
Calling you “the one” implies that there were or have been others. There haven’t.

On an afternoon so raging that we could smell the sharp tinge of ink from our matching tattoos, you gave me a gift.
You donated your heart to me.
As I ran my hands over the cherry wood and the metallic strings that make up its face, I decided that a song from this organ would be the soundtrack to my life.
You told me that I’m history and I’m broken form; the thing that is meant to be heard.
I stretched my hand out for yours and found the jagged scars and callouses suddenly made sense, because sanding down the walls of one’s heart can be harsh on the skin.
If I had known then what I know now, I would’ve told you to pack away your beautiful instrument in the sturdiest case you can afford, because someone was coming along to destroy it.
You’re just another story I don’t tell anyone.

On a morning so ominous that we could taste the dull acidity of the rain as it divorced itself from the sky, you tore me in two.
You ripped yourself away from me.
As I held my head in my hands and willed the tears from pillaging the hills of my cheeks, I decided that we weren’t meant to have a forever.
Your last words to me were that I’m the things people don’t want to talk about; the things that are hard to acknowledge.
I stared at the shell of you through the viewing glass of the door, and I realize that this is how it’s always been: you on one side, me on the other, shouting all the words I’ve ever murmured and knowing you still can’t hear me.
You know, that piss-ant doctor really set me off, saying you were already gone when I got to you,
And I remember thinking how dare you leave me without saying goodbye.
If I had known then what I know now, I would’ve let you pack some of my extra minutes with yours, if only so you could think of me when you threw them away.
You were here for one moment, and it lasted exactly one lifetime.

On a midnight so stagnant that I can feel the individual ticks of the clock dividing themselves into seconds between my fingers, you drift back into my mind.
You swear that you’ve missed me.
As I smile and nod my head along to the montage of memories starring me and you, I decide that the difference between love and pain is time.
You tell me that I’m the thing that takes bravery, ambition, and a little fear; the thing that is simply beautiful.
I agree with you with my eyes closed because your voice is the only part of you that kept your promise.
You are in every song I’ve ever written. You are in every chord I’ve ever learned.
And every time I hear you, my heart nudges my ribcage and says “Oh, there she is. It’s been so long.”