Missing Out

Living away from family and friends is tough sometimes. There’s always a lot of good things, right, but the long and short of it is: you’re missing out. And so are they, in a way.

It’s only the distance, right?
I’m so far away from all the messes
– make my own –
so far away from all
the cancer and the ugly truths
– have ’em here too –
so far away from daily struggles
– it’s snowing here –
so far away from home

It’s funny how I call it that
home – as if
I’m missing your theater tryouts
and the fact that there’s a new teacher
at my old high school
– new teachers for me too –
the fact that you’re still riding everyday
– I miss my bike –
the fact that dinners and our tiny
three-bedroom house for five
– I’ve got two –
look so much flatter on the screen

Did I mention that it’s winter here?
No, not outside – it’s winter
in the way it’s not the rain
– we all precipitate –
It’s winter in the books that
are still left on the shelf, unread
– they’re lonely –
in the way that I can live alone now
unencumbered, also empty
– cook my own meals and everything –
It’s winter in the treats I bake on weekends
cause an introvert
– that’s me –
is so much better left alone

Did I mention moving out?
It means living in your own head
– you miss my art –
living in a space so undefined
– and what about your oil pastels? –
living in a winter house so white
you’re missing out
– your nursing books and
push-up runs and
those fun evening videos –
living in anticipation
of the day when I come home again

M.
Oct 20/15

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