blankets

i have to confess
i’m struggling a bit
trying to find the right metaphor
it’s nothing like a missing limb
or losing your favourite toy
and i shouldn’t be struggling
i’m an expert in the field, you know
a professional player
in the art of missing people
since i don’t think i’ve ever stopped 
trying to fill someone’s absence

it may have started with my family
leaping from holiday to holiday
from mess to mess
they still laugh at the image of me
mostly a mist of ugly tears 
while clasped to my uncle’s leg
before he entered the car
and left to Madrid
i’ve always been on the other side of the railway
waving to a moving car
waiting for the next time
wondering if 
maybe
i would not cry again

other times i simply missed my friend
after a two-week school trip
i longed for the long walks
or the chit-chat during recess
the empty chair of a room we didn’t even share
having to wait while she brushed her teeth
or tied her shoes
and the two-hour calls before going to bed
falling asleep with the phone in my hand
and butterflies on my lips

at least all these feelings made sense
i missed people who loved me well
whose memories of them tuck me in like blankets

but for years i’ve missed 
the boy i first kissed
even if it was clumsy, shy, and senseless
even if he told me to die because i rejected him
you see, i didn’t even want to kiss him in the first place
but i was stupid and naïve
and he wanted to kiss me
but i am stupid and naïve
and sometimes dream of him, too

and for months i have longed for
the texts, the calls, the love
of someone i didn’t truly know
i’ve missed the attention i seeked
in somebody who could have been anybody
but it was him
a good boy
who could have been any good boy
but this may be the exception
since i had learned a lesson or two
and for once, my dreams could move on

but at least all these feelings made sense
i missed people who didn’t break me
whose real versions were just misplaced in my mind

why then
would i find myself missing
for the longest of times
the man who did break everything
who closed all the doors i didn’t know i was hiding
whose memories of him tucked me in my bed
and didn’t let me get up
and break free of the sheets he wrapped me in
every time i started building me up
he suddenly appeared
knocking out cold every structure i held dear
shaping it with his warm hands
warm, and shaky, and sometimes terrifying
and even when i knew everything
was flaking off like cheap paint
when i recognised
every gap and breach under his palms
i still missed him
before and after i fell down the gap
i still missed him 
and i sometimes miss who i was
before i tried to find metaphors
for this foolish longing

it’s hard to find words for a feeling
that’s so broad and heavy
it carries railways and toothpaste
wet lips and good boys
broken locks and trembling hands
so tender and light
it fuels my naïve self
into sugar-coated memories
of men who passed by
while i was on the other side of the railway
waving to a moving car
waiting for the next time
wondering if 

maybe

i would not cry again