a storm brews. the house is quiet; the sky
trembles. it's dark. a perfect recipe for
disaster.

"are you okay?" they keep asking me. i don't
know how to answer. i murmur, "yeah.
i'm fine," hoping it'll fill the void.

it doesn't.

the air is so humid it's hard to breathe. i'm struggling
to think in this stifling heat. the only thing i want
is seventy (million) miles away.

he's so close i can almost taste him. he's so far
i can barely remember what his face looks like
or the feel of his skin against mine.

seventy miles has never felt so far.