I've never been so hollow with being apart from someone before. I'm hallucinating you in other people and empty spaces.

I see you sleeping next to me because I left you room on the sofa. I see you walking down the aisles of the grocery store and I'm surprised you visited me at work. You're on the front porch at two in the morning. I remember that you're six hours away. I've forgotten what you look like.

Mike and I went to the Wing Dam today. The river was pouring over the rock, but we walked along it anyway and felt the tide against our legs. We watched groups of people catching fish. One man cast his line so close to me that it almost snagged my hair. The sky was white and the sun was setting over the trees so that its reflection reached my feet. I was walking on the water and felt like I could continue wading through the river until I reached the bridge that fit into my palm.

I saw you there, at the end of the dam that hooks into the middle of the Delaware, at the end that looked daunting and impossible to walk to. The current was too strong and the rock slipped deeper into the water. I took two feathers from the trail that led there and lost one by the time I drove home.