“It’s hit or miss,” I say in a meeting about something that always turns out to be nothing
colleagues cluck about the enormity of nothing that they
beat, press, and mold into something that remains heaps of nothing

I tune out.
my mind wanders aimlessly unti it lands on a scene with a sunny day
I hop into my car and drive until
the buildings turn to trees —
that turn to mountains–
that turn to hills–
that turn back to trees that turn to farms that flank single-lane roads that kick up dust that fills my rearview mirror

 
a memory of you will jump into the street like a child chasing a bouncing red ball
I don’t have enough time to react as I cross abandoned railroad tracks (or so I thought)
the white bars with flashing lights descend
grief hits harder than a freight train accelerating to full speed
paralysis locks my bones, clenches my joints, and zips my mouth shut

I close my eyes,
brace for impact
cut the film of my life flickering in my mind

a gentle voice jolts me from the projection room– “It’s hit or miss, right?”

“Right…” 

or something that I pretend is nothing, which hits harder than expected

it’s you I miss.