The Missing One--A Love Story

The memory arrives colder now. Spring in Phoenix, a palace of tan grass beneath our feet, all of you that remains. The water and the wind still dancing in my mind, running furiously in my speech, your quietness appealing to every trace of what I was. All of this makes sense, the way anything exists at all makes sense. Forgetting you by degrees, an impossible arithmetic. Keeps me up nights, wound up and scorned by your presence. I search for you, your eyes touched by fire, by impatience, your voice, trumpet calling me home, and I remained. I search for you, but I am the missing one.