The Things We Have Lost

      It's a nice night. Cool, a bit of a breeze, the air clear, and the few stars I can make out burn bright. I miss seeing the night sky in the country, a million stars, the Milky Way spread above you like a midnight banquet.
      When I was younger, I would look at the stars and yearn for them. They seemed close, reachable. I'd feel something in my chest twist and turn and lift up. More than once I'd run and leap into the air, arms wide, hoping that maybe this time I'd fly into the sky or they'd take me. (Naturally I never did this when anyone else was around.)
      I was never afraid of walking alone at night where I lived as a kid. No bears, no wolves, no monsters. I knew I was the most dangerous thing walking around the pasture. I was young and didn't realize the world could hold the dangers that it did. I miss that innocent kid sometimes.
      It's a night for missing things. My parents, lost friends, loves who once I held so close. It's a night for remembering what was lost.

The Things We Have Lost

These are the things we have lost,
   the passions that have spent themselves
      on small things not worthy of such effort.

These are the loves we have lost,
   the lovers whom we turned away afraid
      of the darkness and more of the light.

These are the breaths we will not take,
   the sweet shared exhalations of lovers
      whose limbs entwine on violet sheets.

These are the darks that we will not enter,
   terrified more of what travels with us
      than of what we finally will discover.

These are farewells that no one should say,
   the last touches of a cherished hand,
      the gentle lips, the soft hair.

These are the things we have lost,
   the small things, the gentle things,
      the worthy things, the only things.

In the end all we have is what we have lost.

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