I miss you.
So much meaning in those three small
words.
As though they could convey the
distance between where I am
and where I was.
That space between who we are and who
we were.
Every moment I see a gift, or want to
send a message about a special moment.
I stop mid stride, and the world grows
quiet. Because that simply isn't who we are anymore.
At least not to each other.
As though such things are ever simple.
I tell our neighbor as I pack my things
that I don't know how to deal well with this sort of thing.
He laughs and says “Son, none of us
do.”
And the narrative of this expanding
gulf etches into my mind. It seems like yesterday, and forever ago,
that I could come to you with my hopes and my worries. And you would
come to me with yours. And we were each other's warmth against a cold
and indifferent world.
But now I close the trunk, and look at
the stairs I used to climb to what used to be our home.
Only that's not where those stairs lead
anymore.
I sigh. There's no use in crying.
Although the ache inside me can't tell the difference.
I get in the car and pull away,
wondering if you ever think of me too. But I don't think you do. It's
better off that I think this anyway. Hope is maddening at times like
this...
