Jun 2014
I think that even if I hit the gas and drove until I saw ocean, I would still fail to outrun missing you.
It's a maddening, moving sensation,
Like my skin is just a little bit ahead of me wherever I go,
Tugging, burning.
It keeps me up nights, trying to sit still, trying to soothe a soul that wants
Out.
It's a constant, tearing tension,
Like the breath before the ****** of a thriller movie,
When everything is silent but each hair straining through the skin on the back of your neck knows that carnage is coming, and the waiting is worse than the fright of a sudden death.
Missing you feels like that.
Like a scrape you just can't leave alone, because it itches and burns and turns pink at the edges,
And every time it starts to heal, something knocks against it and tears it open again and you've stained another favorite shirt with a gauche trickle of blood.
Missing you is like an illness.
I choke awake with it in the middle of the night, double over in pain, sleepy and confused but still panicked.
And like an illness the pain becomes a ritual.
I understand when it is coming, I understand when to brace myself,
And as it hits me I understand precisely what is happening-
The science of the sheen of sweat on my brow, of my quickening breaths,
Of the roller coaster drop my stomach takes, leaving the rest of me agonizingly behind.
Even when I'm slapped awake by your absence from a cruel, happy dream,
Still I have learned to place myself within the reality you've forced on me within seconds.
Seconds count- the damage is minimized, the storm is compressed.
Still, there are days when I feel like a cancer patient, or perhaps a schizophrenic-
For you are a sickness of the mind before you're ever in my blood,
Although sometimes it does boil in my veins, trying to find a way out of my skin and
To the soles of your feet.
There are days when I am in my car, and the thought of you is so loud and solid that it's like a separate person in my head, screaming.
Those are the days-
And if I am to be honest, every day I drive through our town, knowing that I may only be a sharp corner from seeing you, is one of "those days"-
That I feel hunted, stalked.
I feel like prey, as if I will be killed at any moment,
And as I am always always learning, the anticipation is worse than what I fear.
When I drive in this town I try everything to drown that girl out,
The one in my head who screams your name, who asks me questions I can't answer because
You never answered them.
And the louder she gets, the harder I grip the steering wheel,
Grinding my nails against the stitches in the leather with a scrape I feel to my bones.
My foot sinks onto the gas pedal and I try to quell my urge to run,
Knowing there is no safe speed that can pull me away from loving you,
But it always takes a bit longer than it should.
60. 70. 80.
On those winding back roads,
And then I take my deep breaths, try to slow my heart, clench my jaw and slow down,
Defeated-
You are still there.
You are in my head like a fever.
On the worst days, my vision blurs with the tension of the questions that rage behind my eyes, refusing to escape as tears or screams.
Why? Why? Why?
I know it is useless to ask myself, and downright masochistic to ask you,
And so I lock the girl who loves you to distraction up
In a windowless corner of my mind
And listen to the echoes of her fists pounding on the walls
All day and
All night.
You are inside of me.
I can't escape missing you because it is married to my blood,
To my heartbeat,
To the ache that has burrowed between every bone and joint of mine since you left and refuses to abate.
You are gone, and I don't understand why,
And that is the knowledge that I cannot hide from,
Cannot run from,
Cannot quiet inside my mind.
That is the thought that corners my soul against the underside of my skin
So that at odd hours of the night and punishing moments of the day
It struggles frantically, fighting for a way out.
There is no way out.
That is why I hate missing you.
It's a maddening, moving sensation,
Like my skin is just a little bit ahead of me wherever I go,
Tugging, burning.
It keeps me up nights, trying to sit still, trying to soothe a soul that wants
Out.
It's a constant, tearing tension,
Like the breath before the ****** of a thriller movie,
When everything is silent but each hair straining through the skin on the back of your neck knows that carnage is coming, and the waiting is worse than the fright of a sudden death.
Missing you feels like that.
Like a scrape you just can't leave alone, because it itches and burns and turns pink at the edges,
And every time it starts to heal, something knocks against it and tears it open again and you've stained another favorite shirt with a gauche trickle of blood.
Missing you is like an illness.
I choke awake with it in the middle of the night, double over in pain, sleepy and confused but still panicked.
And like an illness the pain becomes a ritual.
I understand when it is coming, I understand when to brace myself,
And as it hits me I understand precisely what is happening-
The science of the sheen of sweat on my brow, of my quickening breaths,
Of the roller coaster drop my stomach takes, leaving the rest of me agonizingly behind.
Even when I'm slapped awake by your absence from a cruel, happy dream,
Still I have learned to place myself within the reality you've forced on me within seconds.
Seconds count- the damage is minimized, the storm is compressed.
Still, there are days when I feel like a cancer patient, or perhaps a schizophrenic-
For you are a sickness of the mind before you're ever in my blood,
Although sometimes it does boil in my veins, trying to find a way out of my skin and
To the soles of your feet.
There are days when I am in my car, and the thought of you is so loud and solid that it's like a separate person in my head, screaming.
Those are the days-
And if I am to be honest, every day I drive through our town, knowing that I may only be a sharp corner from seeing you, is one of "those days"-
That I feel hunted, stalked.
I feel like prey, as if I will be killed at any moment,
And as I am always always learning, the anticipation is worse than what I fear.
When I drive in this town I try everything to drown that girl out,
The one in my head who screams your name, who asks me questions I can't answer because
You never answered them.
And the louder she gets, the harder I grip the steering wheel,
Grinding my nails against the stitches in the leather with a scrape I feel to my bones.
My foot sinks onto the gas pedal and I try to quell my urge to run,
Knowing there is no safe speed that can pull me away from loving you,
But it always takes a bit longer than it should.
60. 70. 80.
On those winding back roads,
And then I take my deep breaths, try to slow my heart, clench my jaw and slow down,
Defeated-
You are still there.
You are in my head like a fever.
On the worst days, my vision blurs with the tension of the questions that rage behind my eyes, refusing to escape as tears or screams.
Why? Why? Why?
I know it is useless to ask myself, and downright masochistic to ask you,
And so I lock the girl who loves you to distraction up
In a windowless corner of my mind
And listen to the echoes of her fists pounding on the walls
All day and
All night.
You are inside of me.
I can't escape missing you because it is married to my blood,
To my heartbeat,
To the ache that has burrowed between every bone and joint of mine since you left and refuses to abate.
You are gone, and I don't understand why,
And that is the knowledge that I cannot hide from,
Cannot run from,
Cannot quiet inside my mind.
That is the thought that corners my soul against the underside of my skin
So that at odd hours of the night and punishing moments of the day
It struggles frantically, fighting for a way out.
There is no way out.
That is why I hate missing you.
