amiss

I know when I smile,

people are seeing you,

that reflection of embedded memory always with me;

your mischievous eyes,

your toothy grin,

your open and generous heart.  

I kept the best parts of you with me,

and I give them away every single day,

the energy ebbing back and forth like a

perpetual tide.  

Lately, I’ve tried talking to you.  

I don’t dwell on whether or not you can hear me;

I simply imagine it to be true. 

I still can’t look at your picture for very long, though. 

It stings,

slowly,

reaching into that ink-dark pool within me that is,

even now,

untouched by sunlight. 

The waters are choked with nitrified muck,

the stains of continuous

consuming,

living,

defecating in the same place,

every single day since

that wine-soaked night;

every single day since

the last words exchanged

in haste,

impatience,

perturbance at your expansion of self,

my turn of the other cheek,

the other way. 

I wonder,

do you see me trip,

fall,

get back up,

this heavy burden across my shoulders? 

Do you see me wishing I could see you

one more time? 

As I get closer and closer to your age

I think I should forgive them all

for taking you away from me,

us. 

I should forgive you

for wanting more

than you were able to receive. 

I should,

I could,

I may.