Your voice travels across the ocean, in with the tide, passing state borders and county lines. It wanders its way under my door, between my sheets, up past my face. It's a cool breeze on a summer night, the cold side of the pillow. "Everyone will leave sometime," you say, but what does that mean? Life is just a cycle from the day we are born up until the day we die. Hello, goodbye, hello, goodbye, hello, goodbye, hello, and goodbye. I'm here when I want to be there and I've always been told to follow my heart, but maybe I don't know where it is anymore. I'm standing and sitting and I'm running around in circles, but I've lost track of which direction I'm going. My compass is broken and I'm out of breath. I think it's time my heart found me because I'm all out of places to look.