Daily

Longing

I’ll walk past your vacant house today.
The house where we spent afternoons
reading Rolling Stone and listening to Green Day,
while lying across your bed
absorbing every word –
every inch of each other.

I loved the way you would hold me when I got cold.
I can almost feel your breath on my neck,
but now I’m just cold –
without you.

And the red leaves don’t seem as bright.
The wind cuts through my old grey sweater
(I’ll never understand why you loved this sweater so much).

I wore it that first night in St Louis.
We discussed philosophy over fortune cookies and hot tea.
Then we walked – hand-in-hand – around a town we could not know.

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