This is my skin. This is not your skin, yet you are still under it.
Sometimes I touch the things you used to touch, looking for echoes of your fingers.
And when I asked you how you’d been, I meant I missed you more than I’ve ever missed anything before.
Never apologize for how you feel. No one can control how they feel. The sun doesn’t apologize for being the sun. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are.
I keep thinking you already know. I keep thinking I’ve sent you letters that were only ever written in my mind.
The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have.
Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.
There are a million ways to bleed. But you are by far my favorite.
I have a list in my head of all the feelings I still want to feel before I die. And you have ticked so many things off that list.
I like to think that somewhere out there, on a planet exactly like ours, two people exactly like you and me made totally different choices and that, somewhere, we’re still together. That’s enough for me.
Someone you haven’t even met yet is wondering what it’d be like to know someone like you.
I’d study the science of you until I turned it into an art. The way your atoms rub together. Molecules colliding. Chemistry building. Explosions of heat and radiation burning like a star at the end of the world.