12.03.24, or misslist

[anabypixies]

I miss my childhood dog.

I miss the muddy boots I couldn't walk in.

I miss the pink closet and the fluorescent stars.

I miss the smaller hands I had to play the small guitar.

I miss the plastic slide in the playground next to my father's ex-wife's house.

and I'll read the eulogy of everything I no longer have,

and kickstart the mourning with

things you never said.

yesterday when my mother called for dinner I expected to find a type of completion at the table I hadn't seen in eleven years.

you try to kill the longing like a bug

but it breeds in the dark

and leaves scientists wondering whether something can come from nothing

and me wondering where it goes.

I miss tucking my little brother in.

I miss not worrying about what clothes to buy and whether they'll fit.

I miss the way I used to love my father.

I miss the things I once believed.

the day I cried on your lap because I wanted to stay a child forever you told me not to worry. it would take a long time.

I missed the deadline.