I
We don’t see each other anymore.
I think I see you, getting on a tram, going through a revolving door, walking ahead of me in a crowded street. Even when I decide it isn’t you, I walk faster to close the gap between us, just in case.
I see things I think you would want to see. And because you’re not with me it seems like you’re missing out. And that seems a shame, to put it mildly.
II
I’d like to hear from you.
There’s a gentle breeze here on the pier, carrying gulls’ excitement, but lacking your laugh and muttered asides.
Let’s get this straight. I want to hear your voice, but would settle for just being with you, sitting quietly like that old couple over there, not talking, just gazing out to sea and listening to the waves lap against the pier.
III
“Let’s stay in touch,” you said.
But we didn’t. And now all the receptors in my skin—not just the obvious ones—are missing you.