I miss you at night, when skin prickles, and lonely chords roll out and through my ears.
I miss you when my tea begins to lose its vibrancy, and cool, holding your head in my hands and holding you as you fall asleep, as i sit on your lap, cradling, exhausted.
I miss you, just because it is so much effort to fill your space, it is so much effort not to have you here, because I have programmed attachment to you. Its meant to keep us together, and I am bound you see, unfortunately, I’m bound to write and complain and become self indulgent over your absence. It ensures continuity.
I want to tell you all these things, but I’m scared you find out. I want to ask you if you love me, and what will we do in a crisis, and when did you first become a blackbird. And I think I will.
