I love the way you say “good morning”.

That first little beep of the phone gets my heart racing, I roll over, pillows flying as I search for the phone, just to get to you. Answer: before you think I’m sleeping and don’t try again in case you wake me. Because it’s 4am. I yawn, and I hear the apology in your voice. That’s okay my love, I will pass on the extra few hours of sleep just to hear your laugh. It never stops you the next day; the eagerness to reach out across the oceans. You live in the moment, you do whatever you want to - and that’s how I know.

When you call, it’s because you want to.

I don’t know how to be anything else other than me. It’s always the same. At first that is intriguing, you find the intensity with which I feel, love and live, attractive. I awaken a fire inside of you that has been slumbering, you begin to live, grow… change. We talk, constantly; You tell me you wake up thinking of me, and fall asleep the same way. You say you need me; speak of how fate intervened to bring us together; how you’ve never felt this way before.

You told me you loved me.

Time doesn’t fix things, distance doesn’t make a heart grow fonder. You kissed me good bye, and there might as well have been an ocean between us. “Sweetie,” you said, “trust me.” Then you were gone. Empty words on a screen, hollow gestures, too many questions. All the texts in the world meant nothing in the quiet morning hours of waking to silence. 4am and I still can’t quiet sleep through; I lay here, uncertain, still hoping, forgiving: every damn day. Yet you told me in the beginning, and deep down I know:

When you stopped calling, you were done.

I wish I, too, could be done. But I still don't know how to say good bye.