Missing Piece

I keep rereading the letter I wrote to you
back when we wouldn’t pay attention
to our own movie marathon
and inevitably lock our lips together.
We would never know what happened
to Mike and Sulley at Monsters’ University
or understand the worldwide obsession
for Disney’s newest icy animation
but it’s not like we really cared.
Did you ever read it a second time?
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.

I remember once believing
that I could perhaps live without you.
But serendipity
and stupidity
hold hands sometimes.
You still had the same shaggy haircut
that would anger high school faculty
and the same eyes I fell in love with
time and time again.
Everything I had tried to drown
came floating back up,
and it took everything I had
not to break down like an old pickup truck.
My own
falling apart
is the only thing I’ve watched since.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I really miss you.

I yearn for the messages you used to text when
you were at my front door.
The stupid ones where you’d ask me to run downstairs
and let you inside
because you’re either too fucking shy or
too fucking lazy to ring the goddamn doorbell.
I could name
any of the little irrelevant things
and miss you all the same.
Failure is my life story
but you are my favorite chapter.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss everything about you.

I’m beginning to blame everything on you.
The words that shouldn’t have been said
the fights that shouldn’t have broke out
and the little things left unspoken.
I realize I play mirror pretty well
unable to see the cracks
in my own reflection
all while reminding you
of every one of yours.
If only one genuine apology were to fall
from your lips
I could finally give you
a hundred of mine.
Because god damn it, I miss you.
I miss you.
I really fucking miss you.

I’m going to have to kill you
with the figments of my imagination,
the only weapons
in my head.
The same ones I thought I would
only use on myself.
You’re going to have cease to exist
as I have lost myself
after losing you.
Your kisses were my heroin
because you tasted like all I could ever love
and I couldn’t afford a new addiction.
I’ll write an obituary,
for you and us,
because I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you too much.