I miss you.
I miss the way your eyes shone when they set on ancient stone.
I miss the cadence of your dusky voice when it spoke to those no one else could see.
I miss the glee that drove you deeper to the past.
I miss all the love you once had to give.
I miss you, my tender wild adventurer.
I love you my vicious beastie.
I wish I could find you once more.
Sit and talk for awhile of all of the things that were felt, of all of the things that were said. Of all of the beautiful traumas and the wonderful scars.
You were beautiful in your poetic misery. In your deep blue aloneness. You were a vision on the shores of the Loch. I wonder now and again where you are. Are you wandering round this globe or are you quite trapped, as I suspect you are. Because sometimes I see you beating on the brown bars of your cell, when I look in the mirror.