(2/2) Missing

I cry when people leave.

Anyone and everyone.

People I just met, friends I’ve known for yours, favorite characters on tv shows.

And for years I thought if I was good enough I could make them stay.

I thought I could excrete superglue from my fingertips if I opened my heart wide enough.

Like if somehow they understood what they truly meant to me they wouldn’t leave.

But I grew up.

I let that childish idea die

Until you told me to stop missing people.

That I’d wear myself out if I missed at the rate I did.

I looked at my life, with scares and bruises from where people have left.

And then I looked at yours, clean and straight.

And I saw the wild hair and broken grin of my heart and decided I’d rather be me than be you.

I know I can’t keep people near, but I can always keep them in my heart.

I can keep them from being forgotten.

I’d rather feel the pain of missing all of the people who leftthan be left with a silent sterile life.

So my hands have scrapes and scars that I guess could’ve been avoided

But I’d rather have these open hands than your closed fists.