Is this love? Is love the feeling that you can't go on anymore for fear that pain will swallow you whole, for fear that any inkling of self knowing or self worth will dissipate if you take another step?
Can you hear my heart breaking? Can you hear cracks spreading like fire, small pieces falling into the deepest, darkest, most elusive precipices of my body and tinkling on the glass floor of the bottom of my feet?
It's been eleven minutes since I've looked at that clock, Mulder. And it's been three minutes and twelve seconds since I've thought of you. Please come home. I'm breaking. And I'm running out of seconds, that turn into minutes, that turn into weeks, that turn into missing you.
I need your hand in mine, I need your kisses on my cheeks, I need the warmth on your side of the bed. I never really noticed how cold my feet were, until I didn't have you to press them against. I never really noticed how empty the bed was without you next to me, without your arm around me.
There are not many things that last forever. Time is forever. I never thought love was. Then I met you. Then I kissed you. Then I fell in love with you. I know I will love you forever. And I know that if you never come home to me, if my feet are indefinitely cold, if I never stop counting seconds, if my heart shatters completely, irreparably, if this is the definition of love irrevocably, unquestionably, I will miss you forever.