I can’t fall asleep without saying your name over and over again in my head.

Like a guilty pleasure lullaby. It shouldn’t work, but it does every time.

557 nights and tonight, will be one more. I know it won’t be the last.

Three short syllables make a powerful sedative, calming my anxious thoughts like I wish you really would.

They say that we make promises according to our hopes, and we perform according to our fears.

It’s been a year and some change since we’ve been in the same room. You’ve stopped making promises, and I’ve stopped hoping.

The only performance we’ve given has been half-hearted and rhythmic-- Blue bubble, Read. Time passes. Blue bubble, Read. Time passes. Tension. Blue bubble, blue bubble. Read. More time--hours, days. Blue bubble, blue bubble, blue bubble. Read.

Silence.

That’s most days, most weeks.

For the past year and a half, I’ve been measuring my life in terms of how many blue bubbles you can ignore, how many times I think that I’m done trying, how many times I’ve asked for answers, how many times you can pretend that I don’t exist.

I love you, but I’m frustrated, exhausted, and hopeless.

Still, I can’t let you go.