Every time I pick up a pen, I push away all the words I want to say. They have formed mountains around me, leaving no space for the ocean to cover me in waves. Our memories are a familiar landscape yet I get lost in them frequently. The coveted touches and kisses are mile markers upon a journey that ended with no destination. My whiplash is not caused by your lack of emotion, but a lack of our devotion. I am guilty for the crash, yet you are to blame for the burn.
I sift the earth through my fingers, searching for answers to questions drowned in the sea of distance between us. I wait for the trees to whisper to me your confession of infinite love, but all I hear is the throbbing silence of empty hope.
I am not bitter, nor melancholy. I simply am. Even without you.