Once in a while when I stop in my tracks, I feel incredibly minute. Because I am minute, I am insignificant. Because I am insignificant, I am too ignorant, too unimportant, too un-everything.
And because of this, I feel so far away. Even though the last place I want to be is far away from you. Yet again and again, every night, I find myself wandering the streets alone, wandering further and further away from you. Time passes. And so have you.
My dear, I am drowning. My hands are struggling to stretch above the rising waters. They are struggling to keep dry. Struggling because they miss the touch of the air above. Oh, the air and all the connections it brings to me. I am running out of air. I am running out of time. My dear, please.