The Prologue

letting ourselves miss

no. 12

October 20th in Tokyo.

Letting ourselves want — letting ourselves miss. Maybe that’s what’s missing — allowing what’s so clear.

I fucking miss you, Coco.

The life around me lacking color, where I want to do nothing but look deeply into the forests of your eyes. Sometimes it makes me wonder what’s going through people’s heads when they’re with their partner, yet staring into their phones. Ghosts.

I could look into your infinite eyes forever, just for a taste of your soul.

I fucking miss you.

Do you hear this coyote howl, stalking through the purple dawn, beneath the clear cut cold moon, observing changing leaves, green to orange, only a distraction, as I’m howling for you.

Do you hear my song swirling in the desert dust, shining in the sun’s rays, blowing with the rain?

I fucking miss you, and maybe that’s what’s missing — letting ourselves miss — and isn’t that a gift, to have someone you love so much it hurts this much to miss.

Find all poems in The Prologue series here.

Read about this poetry series in Vincent Van Patten’s story, “Diving In” and in Coco Pearce’s story, “Just the beginning”.

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