I Miss You (Even Though I Don’t Want To)

Woman standing in field
Yoann Boyer

I am frustrated by you.
The last thing I wanted was to write about you, I did not want my feelings to be imbedded upon a page, but I gave in.

It was more than distance.
You loved me at three weeks, my number three.
We were laying in your bed goofing around, giggling, hugging, kissing, and in subtle word choice the idea slipped from your lips.
I inquired, I pestered, you insisted I knew what you were trying to say.
I wanted to hear you say it.
You told me you loved me after knowing me for three weeks.
It didn’t scare me, I didn’t feel panic, I never ran from it.
I felt relaxed because I felt the exact same towards you
I was just afraid to say it.

We spent many days and evenings together.
Laying in hammocks at the top of dunes that looked over your hometown.
Eating sushi and exploring cold waves in the dark of night.
Scanning records, kissing in the dark while Fleet Foxes crooned their hollow tunes.
Holding hands in the car, singing at the top of your lungs, always touching my skin.
Eating by the lake, taking photos and videos to commemorate.
Staying up until 2 a.m. the day we started to talk.
And talking to me the very next day.
Looking out at a storm, talking about how incredible our connection was.

Where did it go?

When I look back, I envision a light switch.
It flipped off one day, and you stopped being present with me.
Communication dwindled, the loving words dissipated, the questions, the curiosity.
You stopped being interested in me.
And I am still left wondering what I did.
They all say I did nothing wrong, it wasn’t my fault, don’t blame yourself.
I influenced the downturn of our relationship by putting pressure upon you. Expectations. Love you were not ready to let into your heart.

I remember that not everyone is ready for my love.

How did we get caught during a tornado at the zoo? How could I make myself not fall in love with that memory? Not fall in love with the boy who helped create the memory?
You are just another person, your hold on me is so hard to get rid of.
Maybe before you’re more than just another person, and even when I don’t want you to be.

My heart strings pull and sing every day that they want you to stay.

You held my hand the first day we met. You took it and held it like you weren’t afraid.
I remember the butterflies, I remember the warm feeling encompassing me. It felt so good.

I miss your hand around mine.
I hate to admit that I miss you in my life.

I’m stuck between this line of wondering whether I miss you because we belong in each other’s lives, or whether I miss you because I’m still learning about myself, and feel as though I need you, so I can be me.

And maybe, you were meant to come along to leave
so I can be with myself for some time. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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