The bicycle by gravest twilight lay abandoned on soggy ground, wheels creak-spinning as a weather-vane. A grief of clouds lingered low and black to earth so freshly scarred. Derailleur clogged, tyres thorn struck, it wheezed-breathed a dying pulse, flat tyres lined the ground. Wind wailed. Lightning shocked. Yet the rider, she was gone. Footsteps under heavy rain did vanish, all scents likewise the same. He crouched low to its pseudo-living frame, his heart pleading for a miracle, a clue, a murmur from sweet providence.
Those days you were missing my heart broke. It broke until all that remains are painful fragments. Having you back, it means the world to me. But, love, give it time. Healing hurts. Just do me a favour, okay? This time, stay. Stay. Promise me that much. You owe me that much.
I was abandoned. God, that hurt. You are missing. That means someone misses you, that you are loved. If that person is good to you, if they love you, then I think it's about time you allowed yourself to become found.