We were never good at goodbyes,
Each moment harder than the time gone before,

Two souls that have became one,
Once again begin to torn apart.

The absence of you is the absence of me,
I put my armor back on,
I tried to be strong and carry on.

The tears gathering in your eyes,
They  reflect the hurt in my heart.

But in the moment you leave,
you will never quiet know the pain of being left.

writing a poem
in this virtual community
called hello poetry
is like coming home
after a long absence

I miss you.
Here at the foot of Mount Royal
(really only a hill),
which I climbed this morning,
I miss you.

I ask what's real.
In this clamour of work,
of French and English ...

It's your touch that's real,
your eyes looking-at-me-with-love,
your lips.

Here in Montreal,
at the foot of Mount Royal,
I miss you.

For days, foliage sat by my porch
which I've been waiting to sweep.
But the wind always seems to know what I want.
It always does the work for me.
I've planned on sitting on the couch with you
but you don't seem to sit there anymore,
only the wind does. Only my own air.

I've been accustomed to making two coffees in the morning.
But your full coffee cup always sits there until it's cold
and I always take too much to drink, that I just throw away yours.
It's a waste that even I am accustomed to bringing two plates with me to dinner when no on sits on the other seat beside me.
It is still the air that sits there.

I feel so lonely, that I talk to myself about the things that have happened; of things that never did,
just to hear you respond.
To tell me it was all a lie.
And you never answer me. Only the air does.
Only the wind blows me away.

For days, foliage sat by my porch
which I've been waiting to sweep.
But the wind has been always there,
where you should've been.
And I laugh, because it's unnatural now.
To be conforming to something that isn't even there.