I’m lying here succumbed by darkness
as you message “I miss you” for the hundredth time this week.
It’s become our natural state of being.
“Good morning” (I dreamt of you)
“What’s up?” (I wish you were here)
“How was your day?” (I need your hugs)
“Good night”
“I love you”
and oh yeah,
I          miss          you.

I’m here, passing the days by doing my thing
and you’re there, doing yours,
all the while with the other at the forefront of our thoughts,
dreaming of days we’ll begin and end each day
tangled together.

I don’t know why but
today has been particularly difficult to endure alone.
Unable to allow myself the solace of sleep,
a usual occurrence,
I fight the knot in my stomach as it forces tears to blur my vision.
I’m not sad, I’m not angry,
I’m not even hurting,
I’m just numb.
And that hurts even more than pain of daily life,
the pain of missing you.
I read the words of your desires, of days I’ll wake to forehead kisses
and we’ll shower together,
parting shortly to pursue other goals before
reuniting each evening,
finally falling asleep with my head on your chest
and arms tightly wound around each other
as I listen to the thump of my favorite song:
your heartbeat.

Briefly, the wall of numbness collapses
under that wave of yearning,
and the bed yet again becomes entirely too vast
and too desolate
for my frigid bones and weary mind.

God ****** I need you here.

They gave her the world
then knocked it from her hands,
and told her she was stupid for dropping it.

Tell me a story.

Of two young people,
a nondescript guy and girl,
crossing paths yet again for only a short time.

Tell me a story
where he found a reason to stop
and look, really look,
before cautiously reaching out.

And she,
in search of that recognition
that once came with glances in the mirror,
found what she was looking for
and even more than that.

Tell me a story
of infinite blue eyed stares,
interlocked fingers,
midnight embraces
and rainfall on locked lips.

Of a stack of scribbled notes
stored on the stand next to the bed
and so many secretive smiles,

the calming of a storm
and a home, finally,
a home within encircled arms.

Of bringing to life
the fire inside
that had for years been nothing
but submissive embers,

of lives gone from a simple
Hello
to I miss you; don't let go.

Where he taught her to love
first herself,
and then another.

Tell me a story
of happiness
that has no ending.

Tell me the story of us.