I knew you’d be gone as soon as you could
Missing someone, really missing someone, starts when you look through pictures of the two of you together, and you stop noticing the way your hair’s a mess in all of them. The goofy look on your face, how fat or thin you look, if you can see that wrinkle, all of those details just melt away and you get caught up, not in yourself and your flaws, but the memory of the skin and hair and eyes you’re looking at… When you remember the taste of fingertips, the warmth of skin, the shadow of a kiss. When all you can see is the person you want to be with more than anything.
That’s only how it begins, though and it gets so much deeper. Talking on the phone, they’ll make a joke that warms your heart up, and you’ll laugh so hard you think you might burst, and then maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out to touch them in gratitude for that moment, that feeling, and those words. They won’t be there, though, and you’ll remember that you are a thousand miles away from being able to say thank you in a language that makes sense to you.
Maybe late at night you’ll wake up, and slide to the other side of the bed, seeking chest, hands, skin, and by mistake pull the extra pillow close. Still nearly sleeping, you’ll start awake, wondering why it isn’t them you’re touching. You’ll look at the clock, the walls, and you’ll remember, and it’s hard to feel more alone ever than you will at that moment.
There are a million tiny little things that will remind you, an urge to retort to some friend with an inside joke they wouldn’t understand, a sentiment that just can’t be expressed in words, but mostly the loneliness at night. You’ll feel isolated, and you’ll feel far away, but you will also feel how real this has become, this need. This passion. This entire thing… You can say I don’t need just anyone, I need them.
I came here because I wanted to learn to let go of one person… Maybe instead I’ve found how to hold onto another.
And I hoped you would