Connect.

I am missing.

I miss writing scribble resembling prose, conversations going nowhere, rhythmical inflections predisposed.

I miss hands of youthful vigor, broken moments, guiding lights and triggers.
Fighting exhaustive battles between two poles, long defeats, stumbling, whereabouts unknown.

I miss the sentiment and platitudes, taking cities one pavement at a time, reliance and gratitude, longing again for the first time.

I miss the fight, the excuse to stay,
slipping under the cover of night,
in the getaway car so I can run away.

I miss the days, darkened rooms, the palpable dismay,
looking for corners where I can hide in the fray.
Under shelter, accepting surrender, the ambient light of this new day.

I am missing.

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