It settles heavy against my back, making my skin crawl.
Thick with nostalgia and depression, it masks me from myself.
I spent last night snapping a rubber band against my wrist,
sending ripples of feeling down, down, down to the real me.
I miss you so much it's making me sick.
My stomach knots and twists, empty or full.
My head buzzes all day and all night.
I can barely get out of bed before 1 PM,
knowing I won't see you.
The silliest part is all the things I associate with you.
I can't move without running into a memory who's protagonist is missing from my life.
Someone coughs down the hall, and for a moment I think it's you.
My ears blend voices into yours, and my heart speeds up with hope and panic,
until I realize you're not here, and even if you were,
even if I emerged from the back room to find you sitting at the kitchen table,
I know you would still be missing.
There is no conclusion for this one;
I will be repetitive until you are here again.
I will be nostalgic until the voice passing through your mouth is your own.
I will hope until the weight of it crushes us all.
You will always have a home in me;
I'll see that promise stand the test of time and lonely nights.
You will always be waited for and welcome,
and you have no need to worry.
Copyright Abby Almon 2009
