I sleep all day so at night I can think of you. The moon hangs a little lower and washes the tides over the footprints we left across state lines and cityscapes. I swear the concrete would remember us if we came home again. The ground breathes out and throws us across the world until we all roll back into its heart when it breathes in. Like marbles on an aged uneven floor, we all meet up in the center. I've spent all year trying to roll back in.

 

And I think it's hard not knowing if you've really gone. You usually leave behind your smell to wash over me just when I need it most, but these winter winds brought on a cold even the arctic couldn't compete with.

 

I'm falling apart and now pieces of me are woven into states I've never been to and flown over skies I've never been under.

 

No one talks about the feeling of what it's like to lose a part of you. We all walk around assuming it's common knowledge. Pieces fall off every day. You keep rolling. You keep running. Why make a point of it?

 

Do you ever miss the sound of a phone hanging up? The static of goodbye? Do you ever wonder about the ones in airports and bus stations who have no one to say goodbye to? Is it easier that way? I'd like to think so.

 

Do you ever really stop missing people, or does it just get easier? Does it well up inside you until it's so small that you feel it less and less, or do you fall apart in stages? Piece by piece until the city makes up your mind. And your mind makes up the streets you walk alone.

 

The walk is longer when you have to count the steps.