I miss brazen faces
Lips are cold, heart is churning a dull ache
That never ebbs, it just flows.
I miss them even if they don’t miss me.
The detective keeps pointing out
Concrete evidence that leaves a residual haunting.
Fact, no one ever reaches out.
Fact two, you need to face a life without
Their ballbusting jokes and off hinged, no filter humor.
People call them condescending and pompous lately.
No one seems to remember their stardust and light that seeped on all our skins.
Maybe they forgot about me.
Maybe they never noticed me.
I keep rereading the passages trying to
Find any circumstantial proof
That I had left some type of good impression
On the imprints of their hearts but fall short.
I always seemingly fall short.
I guess the memories were more important to me.
The jukebox being turned on and off, those big, sinister, mischevious grins.
The way he always thoughts I was up to something when really I just wanted
To be a centimeter closer to their
Warmth.
I miss brazen faces, the bluntness of an opinion that hit close to home,
The stoic humor, the blank stare warfare,
The unending advice and quick witticisms.
No one here has the same pull on me.
No one here feels like home,
Just temporary fixes and an offbeat tone.
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I hope you would soon realise that deep down in their hearts, they also think of you. When you leave and move somewhere, being spontaneous and connecting again with your people has become a privilege. But when you see them again, I’m sure you will feel the same warmth.
They miss you too.