I missed you.
Oh how I missed you; like a wandering
traveller waiting for the new light on the darkened
foreign streets to everywhere.
And so our travels go like this…
Like the traveller delayed, already departed from home,
yet still searching for the next greatest ambition, dream, landscape of contentment
I felt the sludge of home-sickness;
a deepened breath when I heard from you again.
And to keep the sick down;
I realised what I hadn’t been able to say;
words choking my throat, razor edges skimming,
drawing slivered cracks in my breath.
I realised my feet had been standing still the entire time,
out of phone calls and the sound of smiles from the other line,
a companionship was never too hard to resist from you.
The tricky little games of life and feeling weren’t so stressful to navigate,
compass, map, rushed footsteps dancing along the roads to you.
Neither were your hands ever unwanted;
you could carve such brilliant sculptures of me with your fingers,
roaming, heated, the quickened pulse under mingling collarbones.
Lying with you reminded me of your talents, your greatness
that integrity and solid stillness out of place anywhere
A picture postcard of me and you.
Coming together again on beaten, dusty paths of the sweat and painfully
sharp air we breathe,
Was all it took.
I returned home all over again.
My feet were still standing still.
The miss, the bursting heart, hot and explosive to rekindle everything.
I divulged what ticked over in my head, the beats my heart skipped over you.
Blurted it out over the fear that
what is gone is completely gone.
Taking a step back to take that step forward again.
I made you reconnect with all your burdens;
over me and everything we touched together.
*** returned to the table, but I found out I know longer
wanted to own it, want flowers placed in a vase without purpose.
And we all went back again;
I missed our friendship, our coupled retreat, I missed how we used to simply be.
But I can learn to regret the risky flights I took with you,
and the physical became one.
The sad truth, is that I will never be able to stay at home forever.
I need to tell you I miss you but I also can’t be with you forever.
Paths are not worn down, they are not trekked, nor found
at the end if I am resting, waiting,
for them all to meet me.
I feel sorry for returning home, knowing my bags are already filled
for another adventure, another place.
But I can’t take home with me.
I can’t take you with me.
I feel sorry for making you dredge it up for no reason,
for lies, for misinterpretation;
I wanted to tell you before you opened up to it, to save you from shame.
And now I wrap my arms around myself,
to shield against the lonely slow footsteps I take now,
bags packed full of me, to take with me and remind myself,
of who I am, and where I will be going;
Don’t think I don’t feel despicable;
about making you feel about your feelings for me again, for no reason in the end.
I can only feel guilty and sick to the core for so long.
But now I wander. I can still love you
but I can also be free.