There is a moment
when the world is still
and the hour is late
and the cicadas are singing
and the tree frogs are still beckoning
and the dark embraces me
that I hear you.

There is a time
as the night falls slowly
and the breeze blows gently
hot upon my wet skin
that I still feel you
and I wonder,
do you still feel me?

There is a fleeting thought
that maybe you’re somewhere
and you hear a song
or you see a wave cresting
and you think of me
and you remember
and I’m not so far away.

There is a hope
that I am not forgotten
and that I am not in vain
and that in some random thought
as I write to you
that you feel this,
that you see this.

There is a wish
that will never be granted
a dream that will never be real
a voice that says,
you’ve come too far,
you’ve come too long,
there is too much space.

There is a you.
There is a me.
There was an us.
We are worlds and anger apart,
the hurt and the pride are too strong.
But as I go to bed,
I whisper your name.

And I hope that one day,
the tide will bring you home.