Can you call me?

I'm sorry I left.

I... regressed. Knees folded up and back pressed into a four walled corner as my screen flashed: call returned to sender. I lost the battle to my doubts and let my brain leak out. Like deflated air in a defeated balloon it was screaming and I couldn't let you hear so I shut the door, knowing damn well you didn't have a key but can you call me?

Because when you're not here to hold my hand and anchor me to the ground I feel like I could just fall right into the sky, dive headfirst and separate clouds and stars like water bubbles as I get. lost.

And I am lost. I am lost even when there's nowhere to go because down became up and if up is down then my feet will never touch the ground again. I don't want to be gone.

I want to breathe. It feels like centuries since I've been floating in a nest of twinkles and even they feel so far away. It's so dark from where I'm standing but you don't understand because you're facing the sun. There's no air up here.

There's no air up here and you're walking away and I'd keep up, believe me, I would. But there's so much space so that I can only wade through so much black, pushing off nothingness with my hand outstretched and the hem of your shirt just out of my reach like a game of fetch, where the universe is a fishing rod and you're the ball. My legs are jelly.

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But in a different flavour from the ones you heated up in the pan, watched it drip all over your hand and you complained about it getting sticky while I found it funny, that you thought the taste of strawberry could have possibly made you any sweeter. I'm terrified.

That if I opened my mouth to yell out and shout the syllable of your name the void would get inside and gut me clean. I'm hollow but put me up against your ear and shake and hear the rattle. There are beads inside my ragged heart and I'd string them round your neck if you're willing to shatter me and take them out. But then I'm not sure if I want your fist to connect with my face because I'd break before I get blood on your skin. You're warm enough.

But I want you to touch me. Because your hand is a twilight is a gravity that yanks me back, crash me like a meteorite into mouthfuls of dirt and I swear I'll gasp for breath. And the thing above can be black or blue or green. The ball can be spinning or twisting around a splitting, screaming sun and I will be still. Because your arms are my Mesosphere and Lithosphere and Stratosphere, you are the blanket, always warmer with shut eyes. I'd leap off a cliff if you're waiting at the bottom. So call me.

Call. And this time I promise I won't let it ring because nothing, in a trillion solar systems in a billion galaxies in the infinity universe can be as insignificant as the eyeblink of our lives and I want to catch on fire. Because you're my every nightmare and lucid dream. Because everything else has been just the crescendo and you're the tears streaming down my face in the cadence.

So call.

So call.

And tell me you too.