I miss you. Three very simple words, with a very unsure verb in the middle. It’s like saying a sentence and not quite getting it right. Like taking the first turn right, only to figure out you did it too soon… or too late. Like remembering just a couple of days too late that it was some dear person’s birthday. Like not a girl, not a woman, but somewhere in between. Like not a hit, totally off the mark. Like by a mile, or by the circumference of the earth, irrelevant.
Here feels like home; yet, home is where you are, 5672 miles away. If all those skyscrapers became ocean-crossers, it would be a pleasant walk amongst them all the way home. If all those Lyft drivers had cars with wings… If all those MBA papers were paper rockets flying at Concorde speed… If all that coffee contained anti-caffeine putting me to sleep until we meet… If Manhattan and Mainhattan fused into one world… that world from where you come, striving to catch the moon:
Will you let me fly you to the moon one day my love, even if I can’t promise you we would come back…?