It’s July, but still June 2nd.

Your voice is both the splitting wound and the balm. The day is distracting, but every night I face you again. I stand before the fault line snaking through the side of my heart. I stare into its darkness. I let it blind me. I let the tears fall into the deep.

I want to know what you want from me now. I want to show you that I can be strong. I want to feel safe with you always. Can you still be my safe haven when you're so far away?

I feel something aching. I feel sick. I feel loved. I was loved, wasn't I? Am I still loved? Is it true that death is only physical? Does only the holiest of love prevail?