I Miss You

I am full of the words "I miss you."
I am tired of words; I miss you.
This is the pit in my stomach,
always waving goodbye
more than speaking hellos.
Your hand, the one held
while crying fervent prayers,
It's void. I spoke faith
as a ritual. I played notes
as a symbol of what
I cannot be, what I used to be,
mostly when we whispered willingness
to succeed, despite the nails attempting
to claw us down. I'm down
now. Where is your hand?
Maybe picking up the phone
to say "I miss you".
Nearly worthless.