'think of yourself as a breath of air,' he tells me. 'compared to the overall atmosphere, you are tiny. insignificant.'

'but someone out there is breathing you in,' he continues. 'they're living off of you. you are the oxygen in their lungs, running through their veins and keeping them alive.'

i think that i'd be the polluted kind of air. the kind nobody wants. the kind that ends up killing people.

but i keep these thoughts inside.

.

'if i fell, would you catch me?' i ask, your fingers cold in mine.

'the crash is never as bad as they make it sound,' he says cryptically.

i take this to mean no.

.

'what do i remind you of?' you ask.

i have no answer.

.

but one day, i will find it.

and i'll write you a letter, because we both know you'll be long gone by then.

it'll say:


dear you,

you remind me of dreams.

sometimes, i'll wake up from them happy. sometimes, i'll be afraid and crying.

sometimes, i'll just wake up empty.

but in the end -

i never can hang onto them.