Today I woke up, the dream of us lingering like a fog over my thoughts and skin, until the sun breaks. And then, degree-by-degree, the peace of us together burns off, and I remember the pain. You are gone. And I am missing you.
I drank my coffee black this morning, only to hold on to the warm cup that you would have held, sipping in the bitter you would have, even though I always preferred mine with cream.
I forced myself to eat. Fruit has been the only thing that I can manage. Everything else feels stuck, as if I swallowed concrete. I can’t tell if I am hungry anymore. It doesn’t seem to matter against the grey.
Today I am missing you. Tomorrow feels much the same. A hole is there inside of me, where the memory of you sits, stark against the black.
How does one stop the missing? Does it fade? Or do people find a way to busy their thoughts so much that it becomes lost in the noise of living? Right now the noise of my living is still quiet. But the quiet is deafening with your loss. Maybe my living isn’t loud enough.
3 months later.
I tried to live loud. I danced until my feet hurt. Drank until my head spun. Ate new foods. Went to new places. Met new people. Learned new things. Worked. God, I worked. The days and to-do lists and have-done lists grew and filled time. But when the world goes quiet, there you are, the missing still as sharp as ever. Can you ever forget the love of your life?
12 months later.
I met someone new. He is much like you… except that he isn’t. Maybe I am just trying to replace your memory with a simulacrum of another. I still see you in my dreams. You still linger. I am missing you. It isn’t fair to him to still be holding on to you.
18 months later.
The quiet is getting easier. But you still remain.
24 months later.
I can sit in the stillness of morning and remember you and smile. Somehow you have become a part of me, incorporated into my skin and blood and bones. I am still missing you, but I am not crippled by it. I have realized I will always be missing you. Time has just made it easier to accept. Time has allowed me to learn to be okay with that.