Geometry of Missing Someone

I think missing someone has geography, certain cities make it worse. Today M. called while I was doing homework badly and immediately started complaining about Sampdoria with the seriousness of a disappointed military commander. Meanwhile I could hear harbor sounds faintly behind him through the phone line. Wind maybe. Traffic. A boat horn somewhere distant. G. always sounds alive differently from M.

He spent the afternoon sailing with friends and now his voice carried that calmer rhythm people get after being near water too long. I envy that. Sometimes I think he belongs more naturally to movement than I do. Boats, wind, football crowds, trains along the coast. He moves through things physically. I stay still and observe them. Maybe that’s why weekends ending feel so strange with him. Sunday evenings at Genova Brignole station always contain this quiet sadness nobody mentions directly.

People separating politely.
Trains leaving.
Teenagers pretending distance is temporary because technically it is.

Still hurts though.

I kept one of his scarves here accidentally and now my room smells faintly like sea air and cigarettes even though Mom would probably classify both as domestic failure.

MISSING.
Remember me,
Eclipse