You’ve cut your hair, and I chopped off mine. But for some reason you seem brand new and I am the same as always. I continue to write my poems, but you have stopped and I am no longer art to you. You are a painting, a sculpture, a song, but I am just a girl. You are comfort, you are warmth. You are edge, and you are home. But me? I am a distraction. I am nothing to you , but you are my everything.
And when you are gone, what will I have? You will have the world in your hand as you did before me. But you are the world to me, and I was empty before you and will be empty again after. Sure, it may sting you for a few days, but my very being will be shattered like glass and my lungs filled with air that I can’t breathe. I will be suffocated for the rest of my life, you are my breath.
I am ignored messages and ‘read at 8:46pm’. You are hours spent past midnight writing poetry, and jumping at my phone when it buzzes on the off chance it’s you. I am a quick thought when you’re bored. You are dreams, when I am awake and asleep.
You are all I think of and all I want and need. But I am simply a passing glance, a stray thought. I am insignificant in the grand scheme of your beautiful life. But you are my reason life is beautiful.
Without you, I am merely an echo of others, but you allow me to be more than a shadow. You allow me to be the moon. I cannot help you like you help me. For you, my love, are the sun, and I can only shine when you are radiating on me. But the sun does so much, it allows life. The moon? It simply exists. Just a floating rock without the sun to illuminate it.
I’m nothing without you, you are everything without me.
Please don’t leave, oh god, nothing is the same without you. Although for you, nothing will change. Life will continue for you , but not a moment will pass where I don’t think of you, and my life will come to a halt. I will still be alive, but barely breathing.
The sun can do it all all on its own. And art doesn’t require a museum to be recognized. The world will exist without one person out of billions. And air will continue to flow without people breathing it.
Once my air, my art, my sun, and my world leaves, what will I have left?
Nothing. Because I am nothing, and you are everything.