The first time I told you I love you, I meant it. I meant that I love you, in that moment, and in that state, naked and vulnerable, but your soul was still lost and I couldn’t find it— not in bed sheets, or in my hair, not even in between our tongues. I couldn’t find your essence and I realized that light at the end of the tunnel was not starlight or a burning candle, but an exit sign that I’m not sure how to go through.