I'm fine.

I'm fine

if you're fine.

You took my breath so gently

I didn’t notice

that I haven't

breathed the same since.

I'm fine

seeing the world by myself.

I'm a little cautious climbing to the summits.

I'm careful with my feet for once.

My heart may be a lot heavier

but my backpack is a little lighter

without packing snacks and drinks for you.

I've learned to steady my breath at every altitude

because the air is thinner without you beside me.

I still take pictures of the views.

My phone is filled with them

in case a future version of you stumbles back into my life

and cares to see what the sky looked like that day.

If you're okay with just remembering,

instead of making new memories,

I'll try to be okay with that too.

If you're fine with our unique bond

being reduced to font

on a five inch screen,

I'll pretend I am too.

I'll scroll back through our words until arthritis sets in,

rereading them like sacred text.

I'll pretend that distance and time haven't faded the ink.

I'll sift through our old photos

like I'm panning for gold.

I'll fray the edges because, in reality,

your face is more paper than skin.

If my voice isn't the loudest thing in your head each day,

I'll still be rocking out to yours on an amplifier.

I'll pretend your voice isn't an echo trapped in glass.

I’ll let the sound of you flood my ears

while I cruise down deserted roads at midnight,

letting the lyrics drown me

until I hallucinate you in the passenger seat.

On the nights you can't sleep,

I'll pretend that I'm the reason.

On the nights you can,

I'll pretend that you're alone.

I know you'll never come back here,

but I swear I passed your car yesterday.

But it wasn't.

It never is.

I still looked in the rearview and saw you smirking back at me.

I bought a king bed for our future home

and pretend your empty side doesn’t speak volumes.

At night, I lean into the silence

and roam my hand around

until I feel that cold indentation

where you should be,

and convince myself it's only temporary

and stretching out is a cruel kind of space.

I’ll make showing up to weddings alone

something that doesn’t deserve pity.

I'll listen to their vows and pretend

that loneliness isn't staring back at me.

I’ll watch love happen

and pretend I’ve forgotten how it felt.

I'll watch dances and listen to speeches

like I'm learning a foreign language.

I'll hold my glass firmly

and hope a camera doesn't find me.

It's frightening

how easily I've learned to say I'm fine,

how a flash of blue eyes and a practiced smile

can end a conversation before it begins.

I don't want to let them in.

So I'll keep the performance going,

following the script that keeps me untouched,

wearing the mask that hides the parts

still shaped liked you.