I have uttered your name in waking dreams and euphoric episodes. As I walk through our conversations for the 100th time, I smile into my bed. Mr. Electric himself right next to you. Maybe you didn't feel the same kind of magic that left my fingertips, leaking into the rain soaked clouds. Maybe your eyes didn't find any stars in mine. But I breathe nevertheless, wishing for all the oxygen, leave me a little higher than you did.