mimic

"mimic"

I heard your voice 

coming from the other room,

it sounded just like you.

But I knew 

it wasn't you,

it was just a mimic 

using the sound of you 

to lure me in

but I could tell the difference,

it's only been 

a small length of time

since you left

and my memory of you 

is still so very vivid.

More winters have passed now 

and the house 

has slowly become unkempt,

I don't have the energy 

to do the small things,

your absence 

has drained me,

but I heard your voice again,

coming from the other room,

but it was not you,

at first 

it was just nice to hear you

that I almost followed you,

but I know the difference,

even if 

it says 

hey, come here,

I need you, 

help me,

as delicious as that sounds 

it is only the itch 

that I can't scratch,

Many more winters and autumns 

have passed now 

and the loneliness 

has eaten away 

all of my resolve,

the house is buried 

in shadow and trash,

I wouldn't know 

the difference between

what a good meal was 

and something 

I just grabbed off the floor,

I know I lost you 

but am I sure you left?

You call for me 

from time to time

from the other room

but I never listen,

I have just gotten used 

to you 

saying things like how 

you need me,

but is it you?

I feel the length of time 

of your absence 

but now 

when I hear your voice 

it's like you never left,

I stare at you 

as you stand 

in the corner 

draped in shadow,

it looks like you,

but without any of the details,

my mind 

fills in those pieces,

you show me 

your toothy grin

and call out 

to me again,

I'm coming, I say to you.

I'm coming.

-Armando Torres

everything

"everything"

What do you mean to me? 

It is something 

I've been thinking about 

for some time now. 

I knew 

from the first moment I met you 

that 

I wanted a life with you.

But that 

only implies 

what you mean to me.  

What are the words? 

What are the feelings?

I've thought about 

the physical inner workings 

of trying 

to convey such a thing.

I've written down my thoughts 

and thought about 

the electrical signals 

from my brain 

that travel down my arm 

and into my fingers 

that then create 

these extravagant strokes 

of pen on paper 

and into letters and words 

that somehow become 

a coherent system of sentences and ideas 

that against all odds 

become how I feel 

in the most rudimentary sense 

of the thing.  

How can I tell you 

what you mean to me?

And I have come 

to the most obvious conclusion 

that I cannot. 

I can only show you 

with the years I have left 

of my life 

and with every action.  

These are my words 

which are so miniscule 

compared to the years 

I am prepared to spend with you. 

You mean everything to me.  

And I don't say that lightly.

-Armando Torres

Wistful

"Wistful"

I will miss these moments

I remember thinking,

it was when I was happiest

   that this thought 

   would cross my mind,

there is a yearning there 

that exists

when you miss something,

and in my moments 

when I am the loneliest

   nostalgia transforms 

from a mere yearning

into a prophetic confirmation 

that I was indeed right,

I do 

   miss 

those moments,

But alas, 

only the happy ones,

they're like drugs,

even the manufactured ones,

   because 

   at some point 

I just miss everything

and I just start saying 

I miss when...

this or that

and fill it

with something 

I don't even really feel,

it's just too painful 

to actually remember 

the things I miss,

I just pull the memories 

that are easiest,

but in those loneliest moments,

maybe with some bourbon on ice,

I allow myself 

to remember a few of them,

away from everyone,

just enough to get my fill,

and wipe away a few tears,

just enough 

so that I can fall asleep

and search for something 

tomorrow 

that will 

ease the urge 

to remember anything.

-Armando Torres