The Art Of Missing You

I look for you in everyone.

I find your lips more than anything, but perhaps that is because I am still lost in your kiss, lost in the chaos it caused, recoding or, rather, decoding me.

I find your lips most often, but never quite your smile. It’s not the same without your dark eyes, the way they drank me up, used me for all I was. I have found boys as tall as you and yet I can’t seem to fit into them, our rough edges not quite matching the way ours did in all of our jagged, uneven ends. The angle of my neck never quite the same degree with all of these imposters. My heart never quite ready to give up on you.

I have asked the bottoms of these bottles time and time again; what is it about you that I can’t let go? You woke something inside of me, something that has yet to grow into itself, something that is still waiting for your return. You kissed me and when I closed my eyes I saw us, transcending time and space. I was so blinded by your light I must have fallen through the horizon on my own, down through the Black Hole we had been recklessly dancing around. That’s it, right? You had no choice but to leave this lost dreamer behind and I, forever trapped in this moment, the moment I felt real – THIS felt real – I am trapped, forced to watch you leave me in relative time and I have loved you so much that I can’t bear to look away.

They claim that the history of the universe lies within gravitational waves. I guess that makes sense. After all, it is called falling in love.