You left three months ago to this day. Everyone tells me that time heals all wounds but all it’s done so far is give me more time to think about how much I miss you.
I miss the buzz on my phone that used to come from you every morning, and how it made the dreadful process of waking up tolerable. I miss how you made my mornings something I could anticipate each night before I went to bed. The time difference didn’t matter, we had it all planned out to a T, and you made sure I always woke up to a message (or 10.) I miss knowing you’d never let my phone sleep.
I miss the frequency of you—the daily texts, the constant FaceTiming. I miss knowing I could just press a few buttons and hear from you seconds later, despite you being across the Atlantic Ocean. I miss the ease of it all, the ease of finding you when I was most in need.
I miss you until it hurts. I miss you when I run for hours in the rain, yet the emptiness remains. I miss you when I’m talking to other people; and despite how great they may be, they never quite add up to you. No one ever comes close.
I miss how you’d just know. And you’d give me that reassuring look.
The look that comes from your eyes, the look I’ve always wanted. You purse your lips and crinkle your eyes; and somehow in that moment, everything is okay.
I miss how you were always the end destination.
You’re still my end destination.