The heart is a strange thing.
Because you're gone and I miss you like crazy. Like absolute insane crazy. But when you reach out, I don't want to respond to your letters, answer the phone, or even see your face. Because what's the point? You'll be gone as soon as I finish writing. As soon as the phone is back on the hook.
As soon as your face goes away with the plane, soaring miles and miles away, my mind will reach to try to see your image on its own.
I'm terribly selfish, I know. I should always be excited to keep up with you. But we used to be real and present, I used to see the thrum of your pulse when you were laughing, and the brightness in your eyes when we stayed up too late talking.
And somehow, now it always feels like we're just reaching.
I know that feeling of missing the real connection and finding no satisfaction in the substitutes.
ReplyDeleteThis is a nicely turned little piece--the fact that you know what you feel and can articulate it becomes important when you create characters because you have depth you can tap and give what you feel yourself to them.