(outside)

there’s nothing like

an inside joke

to make you feel

like an outsider

 

and often

if people explain them

it only serves

to isolate me more

 

to remind me

of pop culture

i wasn’t there for

 

of shows

i didn’t grow up

watching

 

of all the pointless things

i missed

 

of all the tests

i’ll never pass

The Long Sigh

A long sigh

like an exhale

and then a deep breath

 

I don’t think we’ve ever actually said goodbye, have we?

I spend most of my time

swallowing all the words I want to say

along with the rest of my tears

 

The queue for airport security is the worst

Because all I can think about

is these stupid lengths of fabric

man-made barriers

 

and how easy it would be

to slip under them all

and come back to you

 

I don’t think you’d object

would you?

 

Then I come home

where I grew up

and reacquaint myself

with the rest of my things

 

Remembering the load of washing on the stairs

the types of tea in the cupboard

the shape and size of my bed

how chocolate tastes different here

than it does with you

 

I think it has to do with

the way it melts

do you think so too?

 

Perhaps the most painful part of the process

is the slow

creeping realisation

 

That I cannot make your coffee

I can’t watch you do your hair

I can’t call down to you from the top of the stairs

I can’t scold you for leaving your clothes everywhere

 

How am I doing? Did I leave anything out?

 

Missing you

is a thing that happens to me

Missing you

is on a continuum

a sliding bar

of pangs

and aches

and half-formed wishes

 

But you know all of this already, don’t you?

 

I was wrong, by the way.

 

The most painful part of the process

is that I can feel you

missing me

too.