These bones rattle in me like rain on a tin roof. I’ve never broken a bone, never needed surgery, but god loving you has broken me in a way that even MRI’s can’t pick up. Maybe if they gave me an ECG, my heart would beat to the rhythm of your name. When the silence is only interrupted by the sound of breathing, mine slows to match the others. What if there is no sound? Will my lungs stop functioning? Will I fall into a perpetual silence?

I guess what I’m trying to say is that you crushed my metaphorical heart. You left because you loved me, that’s the worst part. I made a makeshift grave for you inside my own body, because if I can’t love you, if you won’t love me, why should I love myself? Why not let myself rot until I am quickly decomposing? Do you ever see a star and think of me?

I can only write so many poems, I can only cry myself to sleep so many nights, I can only write you so many messages that I send to a damn brick wall. I can only love you, present tense, for a number of days before your name means nothing but pain to me. I like to believe somewhere you’re thinking about me, that you’re somewhere loving me from afar, but a heart tendon cannot stretch hundreds of miles, it will snap. I scream your name in my dreams when I’m falling, falling, falling. I wake up, I remember you left a year ago, no, you ran away from me.