I miss you, to you, means
dude, it's been so long and
we should see each other soon
and I hope you've been well
because I've been great,
that's all.

I miss you, to me, means
I've thought about you every day
since we met nine months ago and
I keep wishing to go all the way back and
this time I'll tell you what I feel when I feel it
because thinking that I missed my chance
to do something, anything, to keep you around
and always hoping that you're happy even if
it isn't me that's playing a part in it is
breaking me and checking your horoscope
every day to see if the universe is in some way
suggesting that you shouldn't forget about me
hurts more than I think you care to know
and I could keep going,
that's not all*.

My eyes won't stop watering,
which is a recent development,
and I know it's probably due to

lack of sleep

or stress

or something

but I question whether or not
it could be my subconscious
coping with the misery of
wanting what I can't have

since I won't allow myself
to cry over you again.

Do you not see greenery,
as green as my eyes can be,
growing from the iris?
Or flowers that bloom
in bouquets for you
around a heart so sodden
with liquid love they need
only suckle to sustain?

In my hands, is there no crag
made by their rough lines
that you remember would ravish
you on nights much like all others, like all
of the nights in eight months long
that I haven't touched you?
Or seen or held you.

Did it scare you away,
feeling the sea foam of my eyes
bathe you in salt and sorrow?
The ocean can be chaotic,
moments of instability, but the sea is
more beautiful than it is expansive,
more dazzling than it is terrifying
if you only hold on and wait
for the crashing waves to calm.

Words mean more than you think;
you felt bliss, you said it, and bliss,
it doesn't come from nothing.
I'd like to believe that bliss
results from seeing the world
in another person.

That's why I'm asking.