I still miss him.
I still miss the smell of the skin on his neck,
The way he always laughed because I didn’t realise I was trying to breathe him in.
I still miss waiting for him to come over,
At the window, checking the street for his car.
The sound of the children excitedly calling his name,
jumping up to greet him like puppies.
I still miss our walks in the woods,
our weekends away from the world.
The two of us hiding behind the tent surreptitiously getting stoned,
and the four of us around the camp fire.
I still miss the way he always made me laugh just before I lost my temper.
I miss overhearing my baby telling him that she loved him,
understanding that he didn’t know how to reply,
and for that he needed to hear it all the more.
I still miss the feel of his skin and the sound of his voice.
The way we made love against the kitchen counter while the kettle boiled.
The look in his eyes.
my hands in his hair.
Him tracing patterns on my naked back as we lay exhausted and happy in my bed.
I still miss the assumption of our future,
the undiscussed plans in our minds.
I still miss us,
so in love we’d forgotten what loneliness could be,
I still miss not know that it had to end
I still miss not feeling the terror of losing myself again.
I still miss being able to love him without this aching nostalgia.
I still miss him
as I bleed slowly into this silence,
waiting for these tears to dry up.