Bus from Xalapa to Mexico City
These aren’t rimes or verses.
They also aren’t fancy words that only great poems know how to embellish.
Feel. Simply feel like the sensations you made me feel.
I think of you.
Days have gone by and I thought of you at every moment.
I hugged you and I kissed you.
I hugged you without hugging you.
I kissed you without being able to.
I missed gently biting your ear.
I missed folding your clothes.
I missed making you breakfast.
I missed bathing you and leaving you nice notes.
I missed you again when I found your hairpin on my jacket. I saved it and this way you were closer to me every night, and today, when I bring it with me.
I missed you at every lunch where we got served cucumber slices.
I missed you when I found your message in my backpack, and I missed you more when I realized it was only one more white stripe from my new shorts.
I felt your body close to mine and I thought of you when we spooned together and you held my hand and grabbed my arm close to your body, letting sleep take us.
I counted the days, I counted the hours and they made me love you more.
My whole body hurt with not being able to see you and with the desire to escape this closure.
Today, the day I leave the center I miss you more. Maybe because I know I will be with you in two hours. Maybe because I seek the moment when I will be able to hold you and not let you go.
Maybe because I know that what I want is to say is I love you over and over again.
Author: Irene Frizzera