Missing You

I will admit that I do not think about you every day.

It's been months since I've placed a flower on your grave.

The tears I've shed of late haven't been for you.

But that doesn't mean I don't miss you.

I pass your portrait often.

Rarely do I stop to think about the face I'm seeing.

My eyes take in the shape of you,

But the connection that's made only sits in my subconscious.

It's when I'm not by your grave,

Not staring at your picture,

Not thinking about you at all,

That the loss, the longing, the hurt, the missing,

Find a way to sneak up on me.

Suddenly, I'm missing you.

More than I have in a long time.

I pause a moment in my actions,

And just think.

Think about the years you haven't been here,

And how I want you back.

I wish that just once,

Just for one night,

We could share my bed like we used to.

Just for one night.

Side by side and still.

This is something I miss the most.

So although I do not speak to you,

Do not talk about you out loud—

I haven't said your name in forever—

Know that I still miss you.

And I don't think I'll ever be able to stop.