I’m sitting out on my front porch again, staring up at the moon with its vanilla aura. I’d go to sleep if I could, but I miss the warmth of your arms around me. If it was possible, and not at all cheesy, I’d send you a postcard, because I wish you here.

I read your name in the paper two days ago – a memorial – and I haven’t slept since. Instead I sit under the yellow moon all night, waist deep in thought because when I think of you, somehow, I don’t feel so alone.

If I could, I’d escape. These heavy wings would grow lighter and I’d see your violet eyes again. Looking up at that moon, I just want to touch the sky, feel alive again.
Then, I’d just forget everything. But not you: I swear I could never forget you.

That can’t happen now. But you know that if I could – if my voice could reach back through the past – I’d say those words, I love you.

More than anything, I really do wish you were here.