Sometimes.
It’s been
Eleven years –
that’s
one hundred and thirty two months
five hundred and seventy two weeks
four thousand and eighteen days
ninety six thousand, four hundred and thirty two hours
five-point-seven-eight-five-nine-two-million minutes
or too many seconds to count.
On one hand, you feel a lifetime away
On the other, I can still see your smile;
smell the perfume on your clothes;
feel you push the hair out of my face
and tuck it behind my ear
as the gentle sweep of the fan in your other hand
tickles my cheeks
and I listen to you
sing me to sleep.
I’m a real adult now –
Not just the pretend grown-up
you forced me to be when you left
all those years
(months/weeks/days/hours/minutes/seconds)
ago.
I have a real big-person job
And a real house (and a real mortgage)
And real responsibilities
And a love more real
than I thought I could know.
I can actually
function on my own
And for the most of it,
I am happy
And thankful
And grateful for all of the amazingness
that life’s given me.
But sometimes,
Just sometimes –
I miss you.
Okay that’s a lie –
I miss you always.
And I’m sorry that you’re not around
To see everything
That I’ve come to be
Despite the you-shaped hole
that was left behind.
It’s okay though,
I only let it get in the way of my happiness
Sometimes.
