You taught me how words float.

You showed me how they suspend themselves in the space between mouths and ears.

How the air connected letters to words to sentences is virtually weightless.

But when you told me you loved me, I started to sink.

I began a methodical decent into a prepetual abyss.

And instead of a life raft you threw out an anchor- you stayed beside me, but you never got wet.

The water bled through my nose and throat, and I learned to love the sting

My lungs filled gradually until I learned to breathe the water infultrating me.

And the day you sailed away I choked on the fluid bI'd become- 

I could not swallow myself.

So here I lie, a sunken ship at the bottom of the sea, an abandonned wreck.

Breaking under my own weight.