I miss you like the wind in the treetops On a dark autumn night, Lulling me to sleep.

These days,
It’s just crisp treads on the doorstep,
Ice like shattered candy
On a Christmas mantelpiece.

Gripping doorways,
Everything is familiar,
And it’s loathsome.

Like my eyes have been doused in carcinogen,
        And now all I see is in blue and black and white.

I miss you,
Like I missed a flight straight out of Siem Reap To Ho Chi Minh.

I miss the simplest things,
Getting up in the morning,
With energy akin to a driving racehorse.

I miss running through adrenaline,
Like gasoline
In a too small engine.

These days,
Clean energy is a question,
Not a given.

And still I miss you,
Like I miss my friends who I stopped speaking to.

The ones who taught me how to fall and get back up.
The ones who taught me how to have fun,
To loosen up,
To play the fool sometimes.

But then I miss the ones,
Who knew that people,
Are not playthings.

Clueless,
I am missing pieces of myself when I look in the mirror.
Who is this artist who cannot put pen to paper,
        And rewrite her story, So it looks like how couples do in romance books?

I miss creating.

I miss contentment.

I miss feeling present,
On any given day,
Not in my head.

These days,
I miss you like
I miss wellness,

As a memory,
Not a person.