May 22, 2019. 7:03 AM — At Kilimanjaro Camp Tent

I have no energy for missing.

When I miss, my fuel burns.

When I miss, my heart is a room

where a candle has just been blown off.

There is a thread of smoke,

but no presence.

Missing

And rinsing my skin with warm water

that is not felt beyond the skin.

My kin, in every way, is what I miss the most.

I have also missed myself before.

Right now, I am missing you.

You and your blue mountains.

You and your comfy bed.

You and my parents.

You and my sense of place.

You and my innate compass.

You and your tempest swings.

You and your immense mess,

but my capacity to figure you out.

Right now I miss how eager I was to leave you,

so I could look at you from afar and think:

How beautiful your mess is.

How much you’ve taught me.

How you breathe with life and cough with smoke.

How you grow in ways you are not ready yet for.

How you shaped me into who I am

and how you knew I did not belong with you forever.

And I miss you now,

and I kiss your sky and I tease your back

telling you I may or may not come back…

But I now want to.

And when I miss you I see you welcoming me.

I see you lighting up,

and settled down,

and lacking jitter you know once made me leave you.

I see your arms extend and the cars parading in excitement.

And that is when I know you are always with me,

and it’s okay to miss you sometimes.