When i was little, you would get angry at me.
I would feel sorry.
I would repent and repent and repent and repent.
I would repent until you thought it was okay to forgive me
And take me in your arms.
Now you're dead.
I miss you constantly and all the time.
I miss you incessantly every day and every night.
I miss you some more then.
I live a foolish life without you. Hoping you would see this
Forgive me, and take me in your arms.
Mostly I brush life off my shoulder when it falls gently from a tree, or when it grows from my shirt like lint. Mostly i sigh it away like a laugh from an unfounded joke or a waft of extra air in speech. Except sometimes.