Maybe This Is What It’s Like To Miss You.
I suddenly remember what it was like to miss you.
It feels like years since I’ve let the thought of you creep up into the crevices of my heart of the breaks that you once made. It feels like years because it basically has been. And yet, I only had to hear your voice to remember it all again.
I remember what it was like to hear you laugh. It was surprising how easily it came and how shocking it sounded. I think we were so dangerously damaged in the end that laughs became so rare, and even then they sounded foreign.
So now, after all this time, it was like a breath of fresh air after stepping off of a plane when you arrive back home again.
But it isn’t home. Not anymore. It’s different. No, it’s not even close to being the same.
Everything you once knew has completely and utterly changed. And still there are things that seem familiar — a little too familiar. They make you stop for a second and think a little longer than you should. You start to think and you drift so far from home.
And that’s where I am, right now. I’m drifting in a temporary fog of what you used to be — of what you used to be to me. You used to be somebody. You used to be the whole world (and even that is an understatement).
I begin to wonder how someone can go from being my world to not existing in the one I know.
So, yes, I guess I have to admit that I remember now what it was like to miss you. I can honestly say it isn’t something I’m particularly fond of. I’m especially not fond of the fact that just hearing your voice when it’s glad and not mad is the only switch it took.
I remember the way your voice rose when you talked about your family, or the subtle beep in your car when you were driving. I remember the way you abruptly said Hello but never really knew how to properly say Goodbye.
I could hear you remembering, in your voice, and I think that’s the part of you that I can’t ignore.
I can’t ignore that I think you remember too, even though you never even missed me.
And I’m likely exaggerating, taking this out of context and making your voice into a song when it was just a simple whisper. But it has been so, so long that I have been waiting to hear the words, “I’m sorry.”
They weren’t even for what I was expecting, yet I think they carried more weight than the both of us know.
I guess this just goes to show, I can probably never fully let go. Maybe that’s okay, though. Maybe it’s okay because I know that I truly did know love. I knew it so much that it’s not something I can really ever be rid of. And isn’t that slightly wonderful?
It’s wonderful that I knew something — even temporarily — that people search forever for.
So, sure, I remember what it’s like to miss you, and maybe that makes me weak. Maybe I’m as vulnerable as the day that you left me. But I know that’s not the case. I know the fact that I’m not pretending to have no feelings is the very sign of strength.
I’m admitting this because I will be fine — even if I remember.
Slowly this aide-mémoire consumes me. Memories trickle like imaginary tears behind my eyes, but none of them make me want to cry. It’s a silent and numbing pain. This is me remembering again.
I’m remembering what I thought we were, and what we clearly were not. But, we were something. We really, really were.
And in the end, I know it meant nothing. I know the laughter wasn’t meant for me, and familiarity was just the tattoo you left on my heart bleeding out for you. I know it was just strangers ridding of hard feelings; even if the feelings feel heavy to me now.
It was nothing. I know. But it made me remember what it was like to miss you.
I guess I miss you.
I miss you enough to wish it was something.
But it’s nothing.
But once upon a time, it was everything.