Missing

Written September 7, 2008

I miss a place where everyone knows my name,
or at least those who matter, anyway;
where so many people didn’t seem like too many,
and there was always a caring face that smiled
to relieve my claustrophobia.

I miss not fearing the day to come,
or the people and news that came with it:
when I rarely questioned my competency,
and confidently faced the clock
that turned at a predictable speed.

I miss being someone significant,
identified by a name and not a number,
when authorities cared about the people they met
and saw humans and not hollow machines,
as I see a human and not a hollow machine.

I miss the arms of those I love,
who could squeeze away these fears:
the doubts in my mind that hold me back
from soaring to the heights we knew I could reach,
the places I could always see in my dreams.

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