I miss you
I hate missing you
and I hate being the one who always says it first
and I ABSOLUTELY hate the feeling (reality?)
that if I didn’t ask (beg?)
for your time
then it would never be on offer

Looking at you
is like gazing through
a splintered pane of glass
it’s all you and yet nothing quite aligns
Words are there (here?)
Actions, here (there?)
and my only choices are delusion or despair

Then there are those other words,
the ones that seize up in my throat
I can’t unswallow them
when I only swallowed them at all
because I mean them
Still they sneak out behind other words
(and echo so loudly)
You’re wonderful
How’s it going
I’m grateful
You’ve got this
I miss you

I hate missing you.