there is always an unfinished sentence,
an ellipses,
in my throat.
I don't know how to walk by strangers that share your gestures without a pause,
interruption,
and.
...
so much has happened since you left.
and, thank you, by the way,
and,
finally,
I miss you.
In those blank moments of arrested time, I wonder
what became of your smile,
your laugh,
the way you liked tennis and the beach and travel and beautiful women and dogs and cats, hot tea with sugar cubes, pistachios, quiet, and a good fight for justice.
I don't think of the broken glass or shaking walls, the roaring temper that used to frighten me so deeply that my marrow would swell. or that the walls would contract. or that I would never see the world as safe. ever.
I don't think of the little poisons that still live in my blood that make me doubt myself, misread, misjudge, mistrust, and go blindly into enemy camps bearing flowers.
when you left. when you returned. when I grieved in your presence...
when I think of you now, as spirit, dust, and imprint, I spin. there is no you to beat my fists against. no you to hold responsible for the demons that I wrestle. no you to find redemption with. no you to possibly ever love me. ever.
what I carry now is mine. mine. mine to confront, find peace with, find purpose with.
a continued story that might bear your name in the title but is carried on, chapter by chapter, without you.
