smoke windows

so did you just stop writing? the words I held onto for so long drift like smoke between my ears, an empty head full of mists that resemble something substantial, playing on my emotions like they hold the power that my brain might.
               
              but where did it go?
where did you go, your words always painting a picture of my emotions, giving voice to things I couldn't say. now I'm here and it's 11:11 and I'm confused about where you went and why you thought you could just disappear, and I have so many things to ask you, and I don't know why it's always you I think about when I'm alone with myself and my smoke-brain.

maybe it's your words, lingering like unwanted guests in the forgotten corners of my brain. can you dust while you're back there?

if you were here I'd tell you about how my eyes sting when I think about your hugs, wrapping around me and keeping me safe. I'd tell you about how much your words meant when I was burrowing deeper into my homemade pit of self-pity and distaste, how I knew you never got impatient with listening to me or making me feel better.

or maybe you did, maybe that's why you stopped, came over to say goodbye, went on a plane and never resurfaced from the oceans of your own self-discovery. maybe this whole time I was a weight and you were strong until you weren't.

anyway, I need you and I need the broken glass and hours of smoke, folding around me in beams of colored and entering my brain while I dance, dance, dance--

I knew I would never be able to let you go.