Landscapes

I miss us.

Not the us that exists now, in this wilting garden

of short exchanges,

chest squeezing

a sure gut feeling

and sad stolen glances from the corners of worried eyes-

No; that us stumbles about

through dry, desolate deserts;

stepping over skeletons

of regret-

words not spoken, words screamed;

empty fears

tucked into neat little envelopes of security

waiting for a fire

to burn their silence into ashy drifts;

a hot blanket of flurries.

The air chokes under it,

a pleading breath stifled.

No, I do not miss that us.

I miss the us that existed before,

In lush green fields;

flowers spilling forth under stout tree trunks

and fruit buds bursting from dewy grass-

An aromatic blend of earth and heaven.

That us is plastered

to the wall of my mind’s eye,

a constant poster of nostalgia

giving rise to both smiles and tears;

a yin-yang of emotion.

But what is love…

if not an eternal, inescapable entanglement

of euphoria and despair?