I miss the way your hand fit against mine
I miss the warm hood of your car against my back as we stared up at the stars
I miss the way it felt when you looked at me
like sunlight had pooled in my chest
and rivers were beginning to run from my heart to my toes
I miss the way you laughed when I danced like a crazy person
and the moments when you joined me
I miss you and I miss me
I miss us
Not the way we ended, but the way we began
with long nights laced with soft words and quiet laughter
because our not so crazy family members were asleep
when we were wide awake, our affection our caffeine.
I miss the way your voice sounded
ringing out across the cold-de-sac
or bouncing between trees as we explored God’s creation.
Sometimes I don’t miss us,
but the way things were.
I miss the laughter that lived in my skin
I miss the way I believed in magic
I miss the magic I found when I was with you
I miss hours spent writing letters and the excitement,
the hummingbird wings grazing my ribs,
when you greeted me with a warm embrace and folded up paper
riddled with the chaotic scrawl of a boy on fire
Because once a fire lived in your bones and it shone
so brightly that sometimes it was hard to look at you.
I miss the white fire that danced under my skin
that burned up my spine and around my heart
and when our fires met we were unstoppable.
I miss when I woke up with eyes begging to close
not because they were worn from tears
but because they had not rested more than an hour –
there was so much to see that I never wanted to close them.
I miss trusting
I miss having someone I could put my trust in
someone I believed in the way I had never believed in a someone before.
I miss knowing
Knowing that everything would be okay
That life has purpose, has a meaning
That hidden among all my dirt was a jewel
and that you saw it
I miss closing my eyes at night
with praise on my lips
instead of doubt.
I miss the way it felt to know that even when my house was crumbling
my home was not a building with four walls
My home was two arms that were always there
to take me in and keep me warm
when the cold was seeping in and I felt that it would break me.
I miss believing that all of these things
would be mine
– be ours –
once more
if only I prayed, if only I trusted if only I fought.
But the fight and the trust, sometimes even the prayer
are gone
and I am left with an unending list of what
I miss