You send me notes from every hiding place in the world,
sketches of my dreams,
those late-night whispers I shared while
sweat beaded our sake glasses and smoke swirled above us.
“We’ll do it together,” you’d said.
Now it’s just you on the stage of Instagram,
as I sit and watch you act out
those things I swore I’d do before I died.
I no longer remember where you end
and I begin.
We were never more together
than when you left me behind.