I miss you up here

When I first signed up for this mission to space,

I was told

not to bring any personal effects.

The space agency was pretty transparent that

I might not come home,

that I might die in space.

Why they wouldn’t let me bring any of my own things,

who knows.

Wouldn’t you think 

anyone with any compassion

would want

to make sure if someone were going to die that

they felt like they had more than

their own arms

to hold them?

You’d think so, right?

But, I listened to them and I followed the rules

because I’ve never been very good at breaking 

the good rules to break.

I’ve always been obsessed with safety.

I’ve always wanted to step between raindrops,

to somehow stay dry throughout the storms,

but it’s never worked.

And here I am,

off in the distance,

stuck up in the sky and so lonely

I think about dying every day.

I wish I’d snuck up something I love,

something more tangible than my thoughts

so I had some sort of tether to reality.

What I started to do was try to write

love letters

to my partner,

to the light of my life,

to the one who let me know

space doesn’t always have be endless

and what seems like the end

doesn’t need to be the end.

I miss her so deeply and so painfully

I wish I could just turn the ship around

and just come home.

I miss her laugh

and her smile

and her smell

and her way of touching my neck so I know it will all be okay.

I miss her way of telling me that not 

everything

is a catastrophe,

not everything will bring the sky down.

It’s hard not to believe the sky will fall though,

because there is no sky where I am.

I need Katy and I miss Katy.

Katy, I hope you get to hear me say these words one day.

You are my anchor in a world in which I am adrift.

I hope I find my way home.