You used to say how you wished you could pull the stars out of the sky and keep them close to your heart. Now you say you have them, and would I like a few?
You used to say, when you held my hand and played with my fingers, how one day, we'd get away from it all, just you and me. Now, you don't remember those old dreams of yours. Now you talk about how in the distance you can sometimes see angels with wings spread, you can see past their cracked ribs into their hearts, and you want to be one of them.
Your eyes used to be soul-deep, whenever you looked at me. Now they are simply shallow, reflective pools.
You used to pick me flowers and smile behind eyes squinting against the sun, and I would tell you how I wasn't a girl, but put them behind my ear anyway. You'd laugh. Now, you step onto flowers and comment on how warm the sun is today, still squinting. I don't tell you that it's gray and cloudy, and the sun hasn't shown all day.
You used to drink sodas with me and recycle the bottle and cap. Now, you dump out the sodas and line the caps up on the floor in rows.
You used to say how your mind was filled with thoughts of me. Now, your mind must be full of clouds, because whenever we are home, the only things you say are to yourself.
You used to sleep in with me, in my arms, and when we would get up in the morning, it was always well past noon. I would cook breakfast as you took your vitamins. Now, I wake up to you curled into a ball facing the wall, whimpering to yourself in your dreams. I have to wake you up, and as breakfast is cooking, I have to force you to take your medicine. The vitamins, once something you never forgot, remain unopened on the counter, day after day.
You used to write out songs on your arms when you lacked paper. Now, there's no need to write songs. You have forgotten that there ever was the need to, anyway.
You used to be you, and you were strange, but. . . you were you. Now, you're like all of my cell phones that you have taken apart and put back together. You don't work the same way you used to. And sometimes, I really miss you. I know that you are in this body, somewhere. I live for the day that you'll come back to me. But sometimes, it's hard to convince myself that that will ever happen.