I Miss.

I miss talking about weather in elevators, the squeak of office chairs
The halls filled with rumors whispered
Our echoes of what we thought we heard

I miss late shadows against a theater screen, the shushing of wild children
The seats alive with the glow of humanity
Our lost giggles of random inanity

I miss the scene of a crowded room, the laughter of tipsy women
The way the air feels late in the night
Her glittering lip gloss in soft golden light

I miss the smell of cheap cologne, the richness of dark whiskey
The sudden bump of a tall stranger’s knee
His awkward, shy smile of apology

I miss the sound of instruments alive, the reverb of applause
The breath of a friend against my ear
Our fingers entwined without context or fear

I miss.


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