You need space and time away from me.

And that's fine.

I'm fine.

Until I see a picture of you smiling.
And I remember how your laugh lifts up an entire room.
And your energy transforms us.
And your light inspires us.

And then the ground beneath me opens up.
And my bottom falls out.
And I sink.
And I fall.

Dizzy and nauseous from spinning down into self-pity and sadness.
I obsess over the moments I won’t get to share with you.

And that time and space you needed no longer makes sense to me.
I can’t understand what a world without you looks like.
You are the world.

And I don’t know how to survive without you.

Do I keep faith that this will all work out—this space is just temporary?
Do I convince myself I’m better without you?
Do I write stories about why I shouldn’t love you?
Do I turn sadness into resentment?
Do I run away from it all?
Do I pretend you never existed?

Or do I accept that this isn’t about me.

Can I let go of my selfish ideas about what you and I are supposed to be?
Can I embrace that real love I have for you—the one that wants to see you fly?
Can I recover that love I have for myself—the one that knows I’m still whole?
Can I loosen my grip on the imaginary future I had painted for us?
Can I focus on how each of us might grow and thrive in this space?
Can I find peace?

I can. God knows I may need help; but I can.