You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.

One hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, miss you.

Is that always so?


I will never know, I could never no.

I don’t miss being right, or wrong.

I miss the smaller things.

The things between you and me.


Intimate interaction.

Those things could be anything.

those things could be everything.

they don’t have to matter, but they do.


I miss the me that had a you.

Those silent snickers born of malice.

every wrong I felt belonged.


Every time you fit.

gives me fits.


No remainders,

just reminders.

Me plus you.

minus you.


I know how the numbers turn out.

but sometimes I do the math anyway.

beautiful formulas ending in aching.

an infinity of only me.