One-Hundred Days

You are an illusion standing in front of me, formed by ray of streetlights mixing with dusted night air and fogged breath. I walk towards you, my feet heavy by the weights anchoring my ankles to the cement. I need wings, but you offer me none.
I walk towards you with heavy footsteps and a heavier heart. I resist the urge to fall into your arms when I reach you. You offer your hand to me but I refuse, standing tall in front of you with pride in my eyes shining from the streetlamp above us. I gather my broken heart from your soft see-through hands and place it back into my chest. I swallow the lump in my throat that threatens for tears to overflow. You merely stare right through me.
I watch the dust swirl inside of you, forming thoughts and ideas inside your crystal clear skull. Your smile that you grant me is an illusion of a frown, hurt and pain hidden inside of the dust and streetlights, too afraid to surface through this beautiful illusion.
You could light up the entire night if you stood atop a lighthouse. You could light up your own dark eyes if you only opened them wide enough. Instead of shining, they only glow dimly through thin eyelids. I watch as you start to shrink away from the wind gripping its way through the city.
I reach out to keep you in front of me, desperately grasping for your hands as I start to fall into your chest.

You disappear with the wind and I fall onto concrete with my eyes closed, left alone by an illusion of someone I can never get back.
I bite back the urge to cry as I stand back up and walk with my anchored ankles towards the place to where you blew away in the wind from my desperate hands.