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.
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.
Me plus 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.