When I was seventeen I started realizing that people die. My heart panicked at the thought of it surrounding me, because death is not something anyone, no matter how strong or beautiful or true they are, can escape from. It is inevitability that scares me; walls I cannot climb, loneliness I cannot persuade to slither away again into a corner, not touching me, only watching, only reaching for the hem of other skirts. I am the girl that thinks of nothing but you. I am the one missing you when you reach for your glass of water and have to let go of my hand; I cannot imagine waking up in the middle of the night, crying, your breathing not measuring mine, the perfect symphony of our heat. Stay with me. I kicked in the womb, eager to grow into the name of your soul. Lock us together; I pray to God, lock us together, for you are the healing water I could not bear the grief of losing; my pale tossing body breathing shallowly in the sunken fabric of a couch, you are a spirit passing through the room,
the choice of music, pouring -  over me that night, every single night, calming, soothing, like nude rain. I close my eyes and become you. There is nothing but the slow, cool breeze of you looking at me in the dark. My shadows fold in on themselves, afraid of your light, and they break. I sigh, pulling you close to me again: our shape bears away every qualm, and we are unsinkable, moving, one.