I step outside and place my toes,
burning and longing,
into the baby green grass.
I can smell you before the thunderstorms;
I can smell that wave of nostalgia.
The patter of the wind blown rain on my window
feels like the beat of your fingertips
playing your favorite song on my legs.
I can hear your voice rumble
like the feel of the thunder deep in my chest.
And It's when I miss you,
the swaying tress through up their hands and pull me under.
It's when I'm missing you,
I burst into rivers and I flood the valley
of where your body should be lying next to me.
My bed becomes my boat
and I'm afraid I'll go down like the titanic without you.
It's when I'm missing you,
the flowers you sent me last week shoot their guns into my lungs and
everything I have pours out slowly suffocating me from within.
Your eyes burn deep into my body,
waiting,
for something to peek though the clouds,
but the only thing getting though is the riptide in my lungs.
And I want to scream for you,
but the is grass clogging my throat.
And I want to reach for you,
but the trees tied there limbs around my body
and the rope of nostalgia burns deep into my arms.
It's when I'm missing you,
My face becomes numb and
I look around my empty yard, then up to the sky
and I realize that I'm getting wet by the rain.
And I laugh.
