I miss the way you held me and how your arms felt warm,
I miss your kisses on my forehead, and how you'd secure me from harm.
I miss your gentle eyes, and the way your hand seemed to fit,
I miss the way you told me I was beautiful, and meaning every bit.
I miss your kind phone calls, when you were just checking in,
I miss the way you seemed to view my past as past, and not so much a sin.
I miss the destination of your hair to grip onto when I felt alone,
I miss the destruction of my youth and the love that made me moan.
I miss the way you seemed to care, and how you were better than any movie scene.
I miss the way you made sure our love was always seen.
But most of all of what I seem to miss...
Is how I never had any of this.
And how I'm hoping one day, it will all be...
Something real, the longing of your being next to me.
How this is all just a mere illusion, a longing dream,
Of how true love might somewhere, somehow, someday...seem.
So strange the way the days go on without you
I'm filled with questions and empty answers of your whereabouts
You are a hidden history, and I am a forgotten "female"
Though I remember everything you said, it's true.
I used to write these lyrics out in my journal then
Of love songs that I had thought I understood
I questioned how ecstasy felt like heaven but also like hell
I thought I had learned everything, but I didn't learn men.
I missed the part where you said you were sorry
I was busy trying to understand if you meant it
Though I would've accepted it if you were to say hello again
But then, I would melt just the same if you called me darling.
I do not like how you made my bones tremble and my heart weak
I do not care for your absence nor for your face on a computer screen
I miss you, yes it is true, but I am getting along fine, trust me,
If I saw you again, I would struggle to even find words to speak.
Good Morning Winter,
You lay like a blanket on the coldest day. Protecting the grass from the harsh winds who don't approve of their greenness. You dress the trees in white cotton, decorating the mess the Fall has left behind. You grace the streets with slippery flakes that collide automobiles, but you only mean to close the schools for the kids to spend some more time in beds. You are a dog's dream, a giant water bowl, and my how cute you make the pooches look with your small pinches of fairy dust on their noses. You slap cars with mounds, and you are a toy-land for the mini's.
You only mean well, Winter.
But you are a temporary grace for this world, they will hate you in no more than a week.
I still love you, you fascinating wonder.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.