Were you trying to kill me? Or were you trying to kill us? Because I kill myself everyday when I pretend I don’t miss the way your voice sounds at four in the morning, I don’t need your help in my own self destruction; I’m doing just fine. The art of missing you.
Missing you is like a river with no water, a flower with no petals, a desert with no sand. Missing everything. I miss your voice, your scent, your hands, your hugs and your eyes. Your sweet smile. I miss the way your lips formed when you’d laugh, and the sound of that laugh. I even miss the simplest things, like the way your hair fell into place or the secret faces we’d make at each other when something happened. I miss how we could look at one another and know EXACTLY what the other was thinking.
I look in the mirror and see some of you in myself because I gave you such a huge piece of not only my heart, but also my mind and my soul. You are in me. A piece of you lingers inside, whether it’s your sweet words, or that voice, every day I look in the mirror and get startled because I see what I’m missing instead of myself.
It was all so perfect until one day out of the blue we just stopped talking. It went from 25/8 to 0/0 just like that. Your eyes went from lighting up every time you laid them on me to them being the dullest I had ever seen as you’d walk right passed me as if I never meant anything to you.
It hurt so much back then, and even right now, it hurts. The thought that I wasn’t good enough, that it was my fault that you left, they’re back. The amount of pain that you caused me in all of this time, there are no words for it. I am at a loss for words for how horrible you made me feel inside when you decided I wasn’t enough for you and left me.
Through all of this, all I could ask myself was: how? Why? How was it possible for me to miss someone so much, and why was it making my heart hurt this bad? I sat there and wondered why I wasn’t good enough for you, and why you just left without an explanation. And no answers are available for any of the questions I had. So, I just went on. I went on with the mindset that you leaving me, that you letting me go after I put so much into trying to make us work, was my fault. But it wasn’t. It isn’t.
It isn’t my fault that you took advantage of the love that I had for you and used it against me as a weakness when you decided to up and leave for no reason. No, that doesn’t justify it, because yes, it did break me. But with the insecurities that have resulted from your actions, with the fact that I may never be able to love the same again, maybe losing you was just a blessing in disguise.
And that my friend, is the art of missing you.
