You broke me by leaving.

You took your universe. You took your stars. You took your planets, your vastness, your galaxies and planets and supernovas and you left me.

You took back your red lips. You took back your voice. You took back the millions of stars in your eyes and the acrid smoke in your lungs I never minded because you were you.

You left me with sleepless nights and loneliness and a pack of cigarettes with a note.

So I lit a cigarette and burned the note and breathed you in, and I could taste the galaxies you left behind.