There are things you've made less painful for me, words I've lost with you when I've done the spiel before in my sleep. Parts of me you've opened up and made me look at, afore-made decisions that you've had me rethink.
I don't always know how you feel, or how I make you feel. I don't ever know how to begin asking. I don't know how you think about things, or what you feel when you remember.
And I don't ever know how to begin asking.
Sometimes the uncertainty makes me trail off. Sometimes it makes me tilt my head when I look at you.
I don't know when I got like that, and I don't ever know how to begin asking.
I find myself in the children's section of Borders, running my fingers along the spine of Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree with a half smile. Then I'm sitting on couches, too big, too comfortable, too empty, too full with the promises of warmth.
This is how I miss you;
Finding myself doing things I'd prefer to do with your company, seeing places I think you'd like, laughing at things I think you might laugh at too.
But mostly, realizing that I don't have to be here.
Saturday, December 18th 2010