I miss your desire to surprise me in my greasy black attire at 9:30pm on a weeknight with your duffelbag over your shoulder. On your black and yellow bullet you'd then briefly vacate two hours away at 4:30 the next morning and return the next night in a speed stream after 5.

You see, most people don't bleed during the minutes away from their love. Most individuals can wait an entire day. I remember driving up north on dark, unknown, windy roads at 10pm and having to leave 7 hours later. The time with you was just never enough. No matter what we were granted, on either of our clocks, I sat through each tick of a second, wondering where your head lay, where your feet roamed, whether our arms could intertwine just once more, just a million more.

"He passed away..." and I cannot breathe.