Trapped Frequency

Wash me in time, in sin, in forever. Pull our map apart—what do you see?

Pin me to the seas, and trees, and everything we cannot be. White noise, frozen frequencies, electrical interference, all just things.

Leave me here, anchored to this empty space, fixed in the exact coordinates of your absence— a monument listing in construct, pining for what we have lost and will never gain again.

A ghost, haunting me, following me, waiting for me. Crackling currents that refuse to die.

Stalk me at the place where you scent still lingers in the quiet forgotten air and your taste hangs vividly on my tongue, an indelible ache upon my lips—humming, buzzing noise; even love cannot scratch.

I am certain you didn't leave. You are a bruise, a muse, a waste of chemistry as I try to unlearn all the ways in which you ruin me. The thought of you sparks a faint bolt of electricity through my veins.

You are my constant, my north, my moon in the sunless sky. A permanent fixture guiding me home, my static.

When the words of a listless mind grow staggered and broken, we remain steadfast and heavy. A token amidst fog and stone, refusing to turn.

Your essence never left, dripping, evaporating, weaving into the humid, tepid atmosphere until the entire city below chokes; losing its breath, as I have. Left unable to function without knowing your beauty, your mind and your irreplaceable being.

The fleeting existence that was you, us, me.

If only for a moment, before your memory, your world snatches itself back into the dark, a dark for which you cannot escape.

At the end, all of this is because I miss you.