I used to breath freely. Let the air hit my lungs with ease. Now I roam around like a jealous ghost- catching clouds of your breath in my palms like I own it. Everything is a blur when you’ve been in and out of sight for two years. Loss breaks ground. It shatters windows that you swore were secure. Locked up tight. It digs into the small of your back so that you’re forced to stand up straight- I always end up falling back down. How lonely can you feel ? Let it all abandon you like it never happened. Turn your eyes into everything they saw suffer. Letting yourself suffer. You keep fucking suffering and people only see that when they want to. Remind them in the distance between calls and words and promises. You swore you’d show up but your absence screams like the words you echoed the morning your dad passed away. What is passing away, anyways? It’s a graceful way of saying dead. Suffered. Gone. And it’s as permanent as you make it. I say this with jealous hands that hold onto people who aren’t filled with as much loss. I mean, you’d feel the same way, right? Don’t even compare. Don’t even try. Don’t even speak because then I’ll see how the air grabs onto your lungs with such fucking poise. I’ll wish to trade lungs as I cough up another excuse. Open another scar that I thought healed- but it didn’t. Not even close. Far away from it all- every lifetime we lived and miss and loneliness strikes and you realize how permanent everything truly is. I keep coughing as the cold air lurks around me- I hope it goes away.