We seek sustenance, so we migrate.
I lost you when I said I might move. You said you wanted someone who would stick around; I said I wanted the same thing. No, I didn't say it. I meant to say it. I was stuck between wanting more and wanting more. Both parts of me were hungry, but one was going to have to starve in order for the other to survive. Starvation and survival mirror each other in many ways. There were a thousand ways to say goodbye to you. I remained silent.
Migration carries high costs in predation and mortality, including hunting by humans.
The idea of you that I still carry around with me along with my keys and ID is as faded as my dreams are upon waking. You die a little bit everyday, dissolving into thick air I must breathe in order to stay alive. In order to regain me, I must retire you.
Migrating birds navigate using celestial cues from the sun and stars, the earth's magnetic field, and probably also mental maps.
You are an unmarked grave in the corners of my mind. We simply had different patterns of timing and distance. Let us rest.