Missing you
to the sound of Sara Bareilles
streaming from the speakers of my car
that you sat in two days ago.
Feeling you
in the wind that plays with my hair,
aching for your touch
rather than wishing to be alone.
For the first time I miss you.
Not the aching I-need-you that I've felt before,
just the I-can-hear-you-on-the-wind,
the absence of your presence enunciated
By the trace of your airy fingertips in my hair
and the melody of your voice on the horizon
calling to me in the breeze,
singing to me in this song.
Your wispy presence brings me peace.
Your howling voice gives me rest,
and you're far right now,
but I can hear you in this car. In this song.
In the wind.
Waiting for me,
Just as you've always done.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
Missing you
to the sound of Sara Bareilles
streaming from the speakers of my car
that you sat in two days ago.
Feeling you
in the wind that plays with my hair,
aching for your touch
rather than wishing to be alone.
For the first time I miss you.
Not the aching I-need-you that I've felt before,
just the I-can-hear-you-on-the-wind,
the absence of your presence enunciated
By the trace of your airy fingertips in my hair
and the melody of your voice on the horizon
calling to me in the breeze,
singing to me in this song.
Your wispy presence brings me peace.
Your howling voice gives me rest,
and you're far right now,
but I can hear you in this car. In this song.
In the wind.
Waiting for me,
Just as you've always done.
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