So many things I’ve felt, so many things I’m feeling: like
the lips, the teeth, my hands that go numb from time to time;
unwelcome visitors crawling across my arm, still not wanting to disturb them;
hoping to be an anarchist someday – not in a way so extreme as starting a revolution or in a way so dull as loving someone your family doesn’t approve of, but in a way that falls somewhere in between;
watching the words pour out of your mouth, pour out of your mouth and drip down the sides – they drip down the sides and spill all over me.
And I suppose if I’m still in the business of missing things, there are a few things I could miss:
I could miss the blue days, the warm days, but I don’t. I could miss the excitement that came along with summer, the uncertainty, perhaps, but I don’t.
Instead I miss your words.