and i miss you

my hair is getting long and i miss you. the absence of squeaky train cars rattle through the cracks in my bones and i miss you. my shoes are too small for me, they suffocate my feet but i wear them anyway, and i miss you. i kissed a boy and kissed another. i think you’d like them both, and i miss you. i cannot keep my room clean, can’t keep my headphones from tangling and my music from blasting and the pen from bleeding through the page, and the stairs from leading both up and down, and the river from the ocean and the sun from the sky, and i can’t help the fact that i stay up too late every night, and i miss you. i’m clutching the tail end of summer while beckoning the fall, god i thought i was ready to fall but now i know i’m not or i think i’m not, i’m walking around everywhere to avoid everyone and i just really miss you. i haven’t written anything in a long, long time and i miss you. i jumped off a cliff. it took me two whole seconds to fall and right before i hit the water, i missed you. i see so many faces that we would both adore, and every time i see a new one, i miss you. i don’t know what to do with all the new; if i should store it in the pockets of my summer shorts or sew it to the inside of my new october coat or keep it hidden in the lace of my new lingerie that maybe someone will be seeing sometime soon. maybe i’ll unfurl the old and curl up with it into my sheets, wrap myself up in hollow surrender,  breathe it into my pillowcase and play it on my guitar strings because i miss you. your hair changed color and you finally smile with your teeth and now there are more people that will love every part of you, and while they do, just remember that i miss you.