Remind me how your skin felt

you ask how i am

and i don't know how to tell you

i'm tired of being strong

all the time

so i say

i'm like a conifer in winter

and you furrow your brow

the way you always do

when comprehending things

.

you don't have the stomach

for vulnerability,

but what if i let it

s

l

i

p

that i'm like a candle in the wind, a boat moored to an abandoned dock, old sneakers hanging from a telephone wire

.

if i lie and say

i'm doing well

maybe you won't pick up on how

badly i want

something to be ours

a kitchen,

a living room,

the quiet intimacy of knowing

where you keep the coffee,

bachata in front of the couch,

salsa between the sink and the stove,

a life we didn't have to imagine,

for you to realize

it's true what they say

about the tango

.

i miss you because

.

.

.

.

.

you are there

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

and i am here

.

and in between is

everything

we

almost

were

.

connected souls

displaced

like broken bones

.

.

don't take it the wrong way,
but i hope country music forever stings whenever you listen to it

.

i miss the naïveté, the version of myself that only existed around you, the one who still believed another person could save him

.

i want to be the sun in your life

that melts you slowly,

like snow off a bench.

i want ice cream

all over our fingers.

i want to watch you eat edamame,

sit on the same side of a booth again,

consume you totally in my arms

.

i wish you knew

what i'd sacrifice

for my chest to be your pillow

on every day that ends in y,

for every month to feel like November did

when i used to hold you

.

we could fill your closet

with yellow shirts

and maroon dresses.

you could finally

wear happy colors

.

i would take my time

learning the meaning behind your silences,

which ones mean stay,

which ones mean you need the room

.

i spend my days leaving your initials in places you’ll never see.

i spend my nights wondering what it would be like if you were docile with me.

you know i'd always leave

the porch light on

.

.

.

.

.

for you

.

.

i would own it

if you asked

how often

i thought of the ordinary with you

.

a handwoven tray by the front door for our keys,

two toothbrushes in the same jar,

a Colleen Hoover novel upturned on our nightstand

.

i miss you for memories

we never got to make

.

.

i can still picture

where everything would have gone

in a house

we never lived in.