Which part of us do I miss the most?
Is it the occasional banter, or the way your lips traced my name, most intricately, most often.
Is it the sound of your breath, or the voices in our heads that somehow synced and played along.
Or is it the panorama of our broken hearts?
What is it? I ask.
Which part of us do I miss so much?
Is it you or just your memories?
Memories buried deep down.
Why do I find myself digging, at this time of the night,
Then I ask myself again,
Why we could never talk enough.
Why we could not have the luxury of time, and of love.
I know, this, for a fact that,
Mostly, between us, it was the silence that did the talking.
Still, I ask myself.
Why, why
Was it never enough?