Sep 2016
What we miss most is the
What could've beens.
We miss the late nights,
The vacations,
The soft touches -
We miss the bended knees and diamonds,
The names of children whose histories have yet to be written
We miss the histories we wanted to write but never found the right notebooks to scribble in -
We miss the bouquets,
The stolen glances.
The glasses of wine,
The memories that are somewhere between fog on the Golden Gate Bridge
And daydreams in Central Park.
We miss what was,
But more than anything,
We miss the happily ever after
that never began.
What could've beens.
We miss the late nights,
The vacations,
The soft touches -
We miss the bended knees and diamonds,
The names of children whose histories have yet to be written
We miss the histories we wanted to write but never found the right notebooks to scribble in -
We miss the bouquets,
The stolen glances.
The glasses of wine,
The memories that are somewhere between fog on the Golden Gate Bridge
And daydreams in Central Park.
We miss what was,
But more than anything,
We miss the happily ever after
that never began.
Tell me that you miss me, too. Because out of everyone I left behind, it's only you who continues to occupy space in my mind, every day.
