Photo by William Rouse on Unsplash

I miss you
I miss your smell,
The scent of my home
Even like the one in
Henderson, Nevada
A life you’ve never known me for
Or been a part of
But your smell
Still persists the lingering of those days when my conscience had not yet been tangible
to anything other than innocence
When the wisps of my hair would blow past my fragile skin in the desert humidity
Where I stood everyday
Waiting for my mother to tell me how resilient it made me
To I grow up in such jarring conditions of nature
I miss you

I miss your touch
Your cracked, blistered hands,
Carved so strong like out of granite, retaining form
But unlike the denseness of it
They shape shifted into silk
Your grasp of care onto my shoulders
When you need me but don’t know how to express it
Your grasp of care
Wrapping round my shoulder blades, feeding me warmth
And an odd knowledge of security
Your moving of my hair, the stick-straight framing pieces
To tuck them past my ear
So you make it easy to see you beyond your eyes
Or physical form and vice versa
You uncover all that I am hiding from you, out of instinct not pure intention
To see me
To see that I am lost
But so resilient
And then I ask, “isn’t resilience really just coping with the now and never being strong enough to change it?”

I miss you
I miss your voice
That can speak thousands of messages with only words of three
“I need you”
Your voice that soothes something profoundly buried but still often restless in my chest
Your voice that sounds of youthful memories
So easy to get stuck in
And of tones so serious
Layed ring by ring
In the eclipses of a tree stump

I miss you
Such a simple meaning laying clearly pasted to its finetical form
Yet it gives me chills to ponder that
I may not or may
Hear it from you one day
Three words I have such difficulty spewing past my tongue
in your presence
Because of how true they are
And how absent you may feel them
Three words I am terrified to know the response to
But even more so appalled that I never will

We have an easy silence
But the reality of it all is…
I’ve internalized that I’ve gotten over this pattern of missing you and
Yet part of me defies the fact that there is a difference between getting over something and
Getting used to something you never deserved in the first place
And so I deeply desire the prevention of stagnancy flourishing between us.
For I am rather beyond fond with the initial deal we sealed,
To progress together, to change
But with each others relation in mind

I miss you as much as I miss myself

About Isabella Gibeault 423 Articles

Bella Gibeault is a sophomore at Clayton A. Bouton High School who, although usually known for her artwork and ambition for it, has found writing a temporary pursuit for her in the absence of time and motivation to create tangible work. She hopes that perhaps you can find enjoyment through her piece.