violet hour

i miss my father

the smell of cigarettes on his worn hands

and on his carhart collared shirt

the way his arms would wrap around me

the kiss he would place on my mouth; i would no sooner whip off with the back of my hand.

i miss my friend

her low voice on the other line

or her dark eyes staring back at mine

gently sharing whispers from soul to soul

as we talked through feelings only she would understand after years of standing by my side

i miss the daisies

their simple yellow faces

and velvet creme crowns

eager to meet my own

as i plucked their beautiful bodies and gathered them in my fist as family
i miss the rain
the tears that fell in exchange for mine 
cooling the early sun
beating against an open window
giving way to everything hidden underneath from uncontrollable time passing

i miss the violet hour

how the moon would feel on my back

the gravel against my bare feet

the stars closing their eyes to the new day

the moment when breath would loose its place in my lungs; making a loneliness inside sparkle