gripes and melancholy in a hot summer haze

There are moments I would like to squeeze into a glass bottle and pour down my throat, deep into myself, on a night like tonight. There are moments when light, rays of late-afternoon sunshine through branches of trees, touched my body, when the wind gathered my hair up off my face, when the leaves on the ground underfoot crunched as I trampled them, moments when I walked on thick, unsturdy planks of wood over water, tip-toeing, pretending I was a speck of dust falling softly on bookcases filled to the brim and overflowing with stories to be drifted in and out of.
This body, this skin, had been present in a million different places, a million different situations. I carry moments upon my skin that I do not remember, that I may never remember again. And then there are moments that my body has known that I will never, ever forget. What I remember most is what was exchanged between us, the pieces of you and the pieces of me; your anger, the way I could see you swiftly closing your computer and stomping away from my sight, furious, in a fit of rage, fists clenched. I remember, I feel, the sadness, the melancholy, the remorse. I remember the feeling of autumn, the indescribable cold that settles in only to be met with the knowledge of a long winter ahead, the knowledge that the bitter breezes, the cloudy greyness, it is all for the best, that feeling that seeped through your every word. The way I can still feel you when I listen to this song and this one and that, it scares me to my very core.
When I picture you, I picture you walking, always walking, nose rosy, buttoned up and pulling tight a flimsy coat collar up around your face, guarded from the elements only because of the layers of sweaters beneath it. I wish you would walk here, to where I am, because although there has been longing elsewhere, although there have been moments with others and will continue to be moments with others, I somehow find myself in the same state, 1:22am, longing for the moments when my skin was something you longed to touch, dreaming of the moment when you actually will - a moment that honestly may never exist. But there is still so much I have not told you.
There is nobody I hold closer. There is nobody who is farther away.