Listing hearts, wavering in the rush of life. The how and why are whispered words.

I have collected pieces of you throughout the years, as if each intersection of our lives was a tourist destination.

The leaves outside my window are bathed in the muted amber glow of the artificial lighting lining the sidewalk. A solemn nightbird calls out from the trembling branches.

As quiet as his voice was, the sound of it was overwhelming. And the silence between each broken thought was deafening.