Broken cassette mix tape,

I hate missing you

and the life that we have in my dreams.

The life where we both remember the pieces of time

to make us complete.

I hate that you’re right here and I can touch you

but you defer to solitude and wait inside and hiding

ready to go,

but won’t let me see you.

I hate crying because missing you tears me

into so many pieces and

there isn’t anything I can do

to change the progression of time and the choices

and the biology

that brought us to the present.

I pray for peace.

But the missing you cuts through my back through my

heart and out of my chest as a scream

with flooding tears, and,

I. just. hate. missing. You.

What is this thing we're promised?