His touch was a transitory evocation of summer days. You could almost smell the promise of heat and passion. As the winter coldness kisses my face, I think of his breath like the summer breeze whipping salt unto my skin.
To this day, 14 months and 2,756 miles away, no one makes me ache like you.
My body revolts against itself just so it could miss you. Tag that person you’re missing right now. #officiallymissingyou
They say it takes 21 days
to break a bad habit, yet
here I am, on day 202, my
mind and my heart are still
convinced that I need you.
202 days since I told you to
stay away from me, and I’ve
regretted it every single day.
202 accounts of whiplash,
of missing you like oxygen.
202 days of wishing I’ve never
had you. Then I wouldn’t be
reminded of you every time
I touch someone else.
I have made a sport out of confusing
the chronology of discovering you,
forgiving you, anticipating you,
and forgetting you. I have to accept
the fact that it’s over, and it’s time to
stop dragging your shadow like a
carcass around my shoulders,
thinking you’re still with me,
when you’re just a living memory,
still attached, umbilical.
And when I say hello,
what I mean is come back.
And when I say how are you,
it’s just my mouth making a
mess of the words “I miss you.”
And when I say I’m sorry, what
I mean is show me the handle
and I will help you carry it.
And when I say nothing,
when all I can do is listen,
when all I can do is breathe,
that’s when I mean I love you.
When I say hey, it’s not just me checking up on you.
Hey meant I missed you. It meant how are you.
It meant how is your heart. It meant how is your smile.
It meant how is your mother. It meant do you still feel hurt.
It meant you can trust me with your woes. It meant I won’t pry,
but I will try to find out if you’re okay or not. It meant my
shoulders are wide enough if you need them. It meant my hands
are calloused but they won’t let go. It meant if you ever
needed to die, I will be your reason not to.
*For day 17 #theloveletterproject
I can’t say that I miss you,
it’s impossible to miss someone
who was never present to begin
with. Maybe it’s the possibility
of you that I miss,
the possibility of us.
I’ve held onto the concept of an “us” for so long that I’ve begun to lose my grip. That’s the thing about intangibles, you can’t really hold onto them, at least not for very long. They seep through the spaces between your fingers eventually, like vapor. Maybe it’s the holding on that I miss. It was all I ever had, after all.
*For Day 7 of #illogicalvalentinechallenge hosted by #illogicalpoemworld