Dispatch 391.213- to Centauri

0213AM The Outline of You

It’s too early for words,
and too late for pretending I don’t miss you.

I can feel you in the air between my ribs—
not as a person, but a shape.
A negative space the universe won’t stop folding around.

You’re not here.
But you are.
And I think maybe that’s what love is—
recognizing the silhouette of someone
even when the light’s not hitting them anymore.

I can feel you in the air between my ribs—
not as a person, but a shape.
A negative space the universe won’t stop folding around.

You’re not here.
But you are.
And I think maybe that’s what love is—
recognizing the silhouette of someone
even when the light’s not hitting them anymore.