Sap from the trees

I miss you when you are away, like a small ache, like a cureless pain. I try to relieve it with activities, with other people. I try distraction and intrigue, I act badly, I push myself further with muscles tense and body yearning. It is a poor replacement. I feel selfish and foolish, lucky and loved. I sway through the days, stroking the present, planning the future, pushing through and imagining a child up on your shoulders, as we walk through the orchard; you lift them higher to reach the brightest apple on the tree and I smile, holding our bounty in my rounded arms.