Promise Me

How do I say "I miss you" without the rupture of distance tearing apart the tenderness of those words? How do I tell you to stop aging for at least another decade? Outside my window the roses are blooming, the trees are showing vigor to the thrilling murmur of a pending spring. Another season is about to begin - telling me that time flies by. I want the clock to stop from flailing to the endless drone of its ticking hands. I want to tell the gods to pause time until that next time I see you again. I wonder if they would grant me that.
How do I ask you to promise me one thing? You loathe promises. I am still going to ask you, though. Promise me not to go just yet. Promise me not to let sleep break your spirit. Wait for my return for I want to gaze at you when you close your eyes after I blow out the candle. I crave to sit by you to comfort you and hold your once strong but now weak and withered hands. I do not want to see the solitary confinement of your vacant eyes. Instead I wish to see magic written all over them like that time I saw you dancing the boogie at dusk. I want to cuddle your head in my arms, gently stroke your soft, gray hair while I hum the lullaby you used to sing when I was but a child. It maddens me that I am not beside you to wrap my arms, to connect our waists while walking on that sandy beach watching the slate-colored waves as twilight ends.

I dream of staggering back home to tell you how I feel right now... for there is that yearning to snuggle next to your fragranced breast, heart thrashing from the joyous derivative of being a babe once again.