In every moment that hangs in time,
And with every breath I inhale,
I feel the distance.
The air remains in my lungs,
It sits.
Resting.
The constant weight of a reminder.
You're not here.

A feeling; I should have never let you go with these things left unsaid.
We are the tip of an iceberg.
We are potential, and possibility, but on a tight rope.
I'm trying to hold onto this before it fades.

I'm thinking forward to that day when I can breathe out.
Wishing it was tomorrow.
Hoping that it still feels the same.