muddled

somehow you're not there,
like a hundred times before in my life
(in my life before you) and these should be the same colors as those
these should be the same living rhythms and orders,
the same manner of thinking about things and the same thoughts.

instead, everyday it's different,
everyday it's new and fresh,
around me and above me
like a cloud or cloak:
this missing of you is breaking my back.

i keep thinking about how you're not there,
next to me or across from me. how you're
not there making dinner in a blender or complaining
about meat-eaters, smokers or laughing about
people walking their pet rabbit down
the street on a leash.

but you're not there, and it's so often
hard to bear.
i miss you in parking lots and in doorframes
i miss you in grocery stores and at gas stations.
i miss you standing in line, and while reading books.
i miss you while watching television or drinking tea.

and there are thousands of things details
that i miss daily. i miss: the sound of your voice
and the smell of your skin
the feel of your hand in mine and your sarcastic comebacks
i miss the way you laugh and the sound of you huffing up and down streets
i miss the outline of your back and the way you left my sheets smelling.
i miss the sound of you taking a shower in the next room and
the way you pulled your pants on.
i miss watching you cut avacadoes and mince up onions
i miss smelling your sweat when you get back from a run.

i only miss it because i don't know what it's like.

but i don't want to miss it. i don't want to miss you.

i don't want to miss you in parking lots or in doorframes
i don't want to miss you in grocery stores or at gas stations.
i don't want to miss you standing in line, or while reading books.
i don't want to miss you while watching television or drinking tea.

i don't want to have to miss the sound of your voice
or the smell of your skin
or the feel of your hand in mine or your sarcastic comebacks
i don't want to miss the way you laugh or the sound of you huffing up and down streets
i don't want to miss the outline of your back or the way you leave my sheets smelling.
i don't miss the sound of you taking a shower in the next room or
the way you pull your pants on.
i don't want to miss watching you cut avacadoes or mince onions
i don't want to miss smelling your sweat when you get back from a run.

i don't want to have to miss those things.

i don't want to have to miss you.
but it isn't up to me.

2004-07-20 | 12:29 p.m.
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