I miss things that haven’t happened.

 

o, how much space is filled with future memories
and the want of somedays of normal things…

 

camping trips and menu plans,
laundromats and walks,
farmers markets,
magazines,
watching too much something.

thunderstorms.

getting in the car and going,
bad jokes, good coffee,
live music,
dead art,
singing together in crooked chord.

 

it’s not doing the things

but the gladness I’d feel in them

to have you beside me

whilst I do.

 

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