I miss you. . .
I miss the things we used to do
I miss your hair in my face
The way you would hold my hand, fingers laced.
I miss the you that only I was allowed to see
The you that was 100% true personality
The you that I could argue with
We were traveling down different paths.
How was I supposed to know you were the one,
we were so young.
I miss you asleep in my car
Your long blonde hair draped on my arm as I drove you home
I wonder who now drives you home
Do you go alone?
I miss you probably because we didnt end right
split down the middle shook hands and parted.
but something stayed glued together that only distance broke apart
jagged, barbed, and irregular like the breaking of glass
with edges that I often cut myself on
because these edges wrap themselves around the memories of you.
Each revisit is like wading through a pool filled only with spare razor blades
that slice and tear and rip the emotional fabric of my being
out streams only tears and sorrow.
Ive revisited so many times that the razor blades have about bled me dry.
each time I go back, there is less that seeps out than before.
I miss you and the way youd look at me
as if I was the only person in the world you wanted to see.
I miss the love you shared with me
as if I was your one and only
I miss you,
but do you miss me?