Afterwards, all I’m left with are broken dreams and promises, the smell of burnt love letters, and a sound like static on the radio, mixed with the noise an engine makes and the clash of steel pans, and the rain falling in inky pools.

In my mind, it’s night, and the birds are screaming, the foxes shrieking, babies howling.

It’s raining, not a heavy stormy rain, but a thick mist that gets inside you no matter what. And He’s there, he’s been there all along, calling my name, calling me to him. And then, in an instant I weaken and look into his eyes, and there’s light and I’m falling so fast and far I think I’ll never land. It’s not the fall that kills you though, it’s the landing. And I do land, and tomorrow starts.

Tomorrow comes and I wake, calling his name in the darkness, the memory of a hundred yesterdays burnt on my eyes, in my ears. It’s a sadness I’ve never known before, deep and unending as love itself.