There are sounds

of sleeping cats, human voices in stereo,

and house murmurings.

But, it’s lonely in here.

Too many brain waves

confound the clarity of thought,

of being awake.

I get this feeling late at night when I watch you sleep loudly in our bed. It’s heavy and opaque like a deep Southern fog wavering through Alabama swamp trees. It hangs, with thousands of water drops above our heads, threatening to lose them all if you go. I know you’re going soon.  Because of obligations, those things that like to tear people apart the moment they find themselves on their feet, or in love.

I know I didn’t say it at first, but I’ve loved you since the day we met, when we found that small bit of ourselves in one another. It’s real again, and the bits are still there but bigger now, but it’s a different kind of real. It’s the kind that makes some women fall apart, and some men too.

I’m gonna try my best not to fall apart. But sometimes trying isn’t enough. I can try not to cry when you step out that door but I might cry when you turn back to tell me this isn’t the end.

This feeling isn’t going to let up, but we’ll turn it around. You’ll drive with the fog lights on until we’re out of town, until the sky gets clearer and we can see ourselves reflected in the constellations, like every great love.