Submission

This written and released, I’ve held on so tight.
What are we without love, without fight?

I submit.

Here I am, found myself circling the block again.
I can’t say I blame you, it’s a finger that points back.
Faulting my past days, the final attack,
no longer worth the strain.

You win.

I’ll be evasive, yet here I face it.
On this stoop where it all began
So far from zero, seeing the streetlights that never waned.
The distance we became.
Memories that cloud dreams.

Breathe, exhale.

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.