I am a canvas
Painted in harsh strokes
With kind words
Mistakes blend in
Over time and diligence
But are never erased
They sit quietly
Under layers of oil paint
Built into my foundation

She knew how to hold me
because she was used
to holding herself together.
She bound herself,
not from head to toe, but
from her flat stomach
to her nervous armpit.
Never quite comfortable
in her own skin,
but I was comfortable
against it.

I never knew what
name to call her.
So I called her
lover.
My lover would
rest with me.
Whispers filled the air
like clouds.
Our words were
puffy and white.
Others spoke
acid tongued storm clouds.

Now that she is gone
I still don’t know what
name to call her. Him.
His name
rolls off my tongue
as hers had.
Still bittersweet
and rough, still
my unstable rock.

Rocks crumble and learn
that the rain washes them away.
Rain learns that falling on,
or for, rocks
bruises the heart
and breaks the ribs.
Yet still, the rain comes and
my heart ruptures and
my chest aches of cracks. Still
I long for him.
For her.  For us.

I don't want you to miss me
Like an arm or a lung.
I would miss you like that
If you hated me, if you were gone,
And maybe you'd feel
The same.
But away as you are
Reluctantly,
Briefly,
In love and in faith,
I hope you miss me smaller,
Lighter,
Warmer.
I want missing me to go with you wherever you are
Not like a raincloud or a looming shadow
But like
Like a small love note
A little slip of paper, almost inconsequential,
Something you see and smile and think,
"I'll keep this."
Something you fold up small and slide into the bottom of your coat pocket
And fiddle with whenever you're bored or lonely
And maybe sometimes you forget it, maybe it doesn't always catch your notice
But then the wind blows and in the cold you push your hands
Deep into those pockets
And your fingers brush the thought of me and how I love you
And a smile spreads across your face.
Maybe you take it out and look it over,
And then decide to put it back so that can happen
All over again.
I want you to miss me like that.
I want it to be something sweet and small, something that can travel with you
And never weigh you down.
It's true that I think of you whenever I am sat in silence for more than a moment
And I do the same sort of thing
Maybe too often, maybe too fondly.
Maybe my little love note would be creased and worn
And rubbed a little blurry from the pads of my fingers tracing your words.
But nonetheless
You are so easy to take along with me
The thought of you so warm and comforting and
Light
But strong.
I want that for you.
I want to be easy to hold
So that maybe you will never
Let me go.