55 miles and i can still hear you breathing

Professor-- 55 miles from the city.
you call at obsolete times in our lives and you don't write
--except to tell me what to do.
And yet I can still hear you having your own
Sometimes you like it, your kind of fun.
But other times you cry so loud I can hear you in my dreams.
And I see you checking on me. Here; in my thoughts
these thoughts I put on loan
To see what is next,
Is it about you? I tell you, this day falls on you.
These things are for you, these words mindful things of mine.
Remember when...and remember these words.

55 miles and sometimes I lay awake at night
and wonder if I am dreaming
I wonder what healthy is and try to imagine
if I can mirror my soul to fit into my body's reflection.
Where has my heart been?
Has she been free as I hoped she could fly?
Or did I abandon her like a tiny bird
pushed from her mothers breast, from the nest?
I know that I am blamed between me and you.
And God knows I cut corneres in the race we were in
just to see if I could finish us alive.
But kind sir, I still feel like a novice --even still
like a fidgety little niaeve goddess.
I hope that your learning new things and that your teaching wise.
With your words and your manners and your ways.
If you ever need a soft place to land I did grasp the concept of compassion.
And I never forget a kind face.
Please don't read me wrong, your the one who sped away.
I just wanted to talk sometime. Just to say hi.