The Swallows and the Sunsets

She Asked Me What I Missed the Most

She asked me what I missed the most and a series of people and the silhouette of towering mountains crossed my mind.
I looked back at her and choked on my words.
Because I know who and I know what - and I certainly know why.
But saying that out loud?
I'd be talking for hours.
About you.
About him.
About her.
About them.
About the tree I used to climb. About the feeling of falling off of it.
About the smile I had when I realized the branches snapped.
About the river.
About the lake.
About the raccoons.
About the pine trees.
About the fence guarding me off from somewhere I was forbidden to go.
About the feeling I got when I went there anyway.
About the snow.
About the empty stairwells and my voice echoing down to the bottom of what I was terrified to explore.
About the glowing cross.
About the forest fires.
About me.