Tell Me

“Tell me about how sadness crawled its way into the vacancy only I could fill up when I was gone, if there was any. Tell me how you woke up crying the next morning, with your hands clutched over your heart just to keep the pieces from falling onto the floor. Tell me you have no strength left to mop the blood away. Tell me how you cry yourself to sleep every night with winston in your hand and your phone in the other, waiting for me to pick up the phone. Tell me. Tell me you regret this. Tell me it wasn’t my fault. Tell me everytime you looked everywhere, even in a sea of unfamiliar faces, you see me. Tell me you miss me. Would it kill you to try? Would it kill you to admit that my absence was killing you? Baby, you never learn. You have to speak your mind out. Cutting your chest open doesn’t mean death; sometimes it means taking a good look at your heart and making sure it’s still beating. To make sure it’s still pulsing the way it was when I was still around to call yours. You and I were bodies struck by lightning and meteorites, and we are all holes and cracks and broken cement waiting to be fixed. Tell me you crave the day I come back. Tell me you loved me, tell me you love me and you never stopped loving me. Not even one second. Tell me you’re sorry. And I’ll tell you I’m sorry too. I’ve been missing you.” —  tell me what I’ve been dying to hear