UNRELIABLY TOLDㅤ misc

to miss you, prose poem?

december 22, 2022

Moonlight leaks through the curtains you drew. It spills through the glass windows, gnaws at the linen, and bursts through the threads, gasping for stale air as a glow so luminous and complete that it cleanses the room's melancholy.

And yet it does not seem to touch you. You, dear, are in your own room, crafted from the space between the stars. The moon touches your skin, and yet it evades your eyes. They lack wonder, and I wonder, is it fair for me to miss you, when you're right here, breathing my air?

Every word we utter comes out stilted and unsteady. They lean on irrelevance to stand upright—my math professor, your psychology project. Take our education away, and evidently, it's not only intelligence that crumbles. I miss you, because I don't know you past your passion for neurology. 

The more we talk, the more it feels like the moon hopes to drown us. On you, though, it fails. You breathe underwater as it steals my air, and I'm strangled by a light only I can see.

Dear, to miss you is to drown in my own love.