Missing

It’s always around even though he’s not here.

There are notes and cards and pictures on my walls.

It’s the feeling of frustration, of patience and love.

There are socks and chocolates and flowers on my floor.

It’s the emptiness that builds in your limbs

There are flights booked and plans made for four months from now.

It’s wanting to reject phone screens and to break through them.

There are texts and promises and 37 days to count.

It’s a need for physical contact,

He skypes.

It’s memories of dancing, during walks with music,

He calls.

It’s wanting to share every moment he’s missed,

I write.

 

 

 

 

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