I miss you

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all."
- Emily Dickinson

Sometimes these moments pass by quietly,
with little fanfare or production.
I'll tap my lip or stroke my beard absently,
not sure what thought sparingly eludes my grasp;
a small mark on my retina,
evading my direct gaze,
or a twenty dollar bill
along the breeze
of an urban boulevard.
Almost as if my thought
was interrupted by an unexpected occurrence,
I search for what, exactly,
I could be thinking about... no luck.
I am in a dark room, and I cannot find the switch.

Sometimes, though...
sometimes the moments
refuse any but the most
concentrated introspection.
Each moment is dragged by,
kicking and screaming,
demanding it be heard.
My heart travels throughout my body,
visiting each part with
the specific goal of discomfort.
Even my fingers twitch with restlessness,
and there is no relief.
No recourse available,
the moments refuse to advance.
There is no negotiation.
No way to procrastinate;
no way to bargain away what I will feel.
I will feel it now,
and I will feel it for as long as it takes.

I miss you.

~ I think of each adventure we'd embark upon.
How every time we would hit the town,
a new story would be born,
keeping friends and acquaintances spellbound
for as long as we chose to recount.
Though I'm sure our spectacular run of safety
in these outlandish experiences was due to end
- and believe me, there could have been some disaster
- it seemed that it never would.
Our young friendship endured an epic struggle
(I considered punching you in the face that night,
but when you asked if I would use
an open hand so as not to break your jaw or kill you,
my resolve withered)
and we became even closer.
Then you just up and went away...
you disappeared without a trace,
though I thought I'd hear from you again.
I'm still surprised that I haven't, almost three years later.
In these silent moments,
surrounded by absence,
I miss you, buddy. Yuppers.

~ I have made peace with the fact
that I will never make peace with this, or you.
Though I've not quite convinced myself
that I am completely faultless,
I know that we are where we are
because of your actions, not mine.
I loved you. I hated you.
I, along with everyone else,
was scared to death of you.
Not in a good way.
Not in an endearing or positive way,
or in a way that commands respect,
but in a way that makes people
able to walk away from you... forever.
Looking back only to wonder
just how this is possible,
or how that was possible.
There are moments that pass
like teeth grinding,
where each of my decisions
are justified and second-guessed
as one becomes another.
I miss you, Dad,
and it's not even my fault.

~ I'm not sure how this can be so,
but I am simply captivated
by everything I don't know about you.
Would we have fun in a department store,
or a library, or a gallery?
How would your body fit to mine,
in the early hours of the morning,
before sunlight beckons?
Without ever having woken beside you,
I can look beside me even now
and picture your face, either smiling or preparing to.
I think about how difficult it would be
to leave you for the day, each of us with
our own careers and obligations,
and then I think about how
I'll never know that longing.
I miss you, and I'll never even know how much.

But I do miss you.