At the opera
I was hit with a type of sadness I haven't felt in a long time.
It was awful.
I ate
And ate
After feeling okay for a while.

On the way back
I found myself alone in a single seat at the far end of the bus.
I spent the hour drive turned around, looking out the mud-caked window.
I waved at all the people behind us when the brake lights illuminated their faces with a glowing red light.
I didn't get one response.
Maybe they didn't see me in the dark.
Or maybe they didn't care.

As we traveled down the highway, the streetlights were all burned out.
Headlights of people that followed the bus for several miles faded in the distance.
It was like losing friends in a way.
Maybe if the friends didn't know who you were and you just felt good about their existence.

I listened to the same old love songs.
They used to hurt like hell.
Now, it's odd to feel so empty listening to what made me feel so much before.
I tried to imagine someone there to sit next to me.
Just someone who loves me
Crammed into the tiny seat together
Talking about the universe and gluing back together the pieces that need fixing.

Who was it?
I don't know.
Maybe she and I live in a little apartment in Tennessee and have coffee dates every Sunday.
Maybe we cry with joy that we each held on long enough to find someone to be sad with.
Maybe we dance to every song on the radio, whether it be the song that kept us alive or the song that tore us apart.
She's just special like that.

In those moments, when there's no one to love,
You fall in love with the world.

The moon is my closest friend.
We watch each other rise and fall and still manage to care for every part of the other, good and bad.
Thank you, moon.

You look at the power lines.
They carry the thing that lets you light the lamp you write by.
They show that our world is modern, but still beautiful in some ways.
Thank you, power lines.

You peer into the woods.
With the burnt out streetlights, you don't know who's there.
Or even if anyone is.
I just want them to know,
If they're actually there like my heart says,
We are friends.
Thank you, dark, scary woods.

You pass cemetery after cemetery
Knowing you're destined to be reclaimed by the universe on day,
Stuck in a casket.
But it's okay.
Graveyards are one of my favorite places.
These people are your friends.
You came to visit them long after their families died out or forgot about them.
You bring them flowers and kind words in exchange for a headstone rubbing and pretty pictures.
It's mutual.
I hope someone feels that way about my grave.
Thank you, cemeteries.

And in those moments, you fall apart, but with uniformity that tells you it's just so you can be reassembled the right way one day.