I still miss you sometimes.
The feeling comes quietly while I’m sleeping. I go to bed unharmed, and I wake up with a stomach ache all over again. And there is a hole in my body, like a bullet had just shattered my bones in my dreams. It isn’t until noon that I realize it’s you who I’m missing.
And then I realize I have missed you for three years straight. And even though I didn’t always know it, a part of me always did and always will.
Some days, missing you has been quiet, like a soft whisper every winter. Yet, I trudged through the snow like we used to, with new strides in my step. Missing you just felt soft, like snowflakes melting into my warm mittens. It didn’t seem to last.
But other days, missing you has felt like a stampede of longing and wanting and hoping in the hot summer heat. And I am drenched with your scent all over me once more. And I am tired. Tired of longing for something that doesn’t exist. Tired of wanting someone who has moved on. Tired of hoping you will change your mind.
Tonight, as I drink red wine and try to sleep, I wish you were here.
I keep googling things, asking for advice, looking for excuses.
I keep asking the Internet how long it takes people to get over their first love. When will the longing stop? When will the bullets stop shooting me down? When will I find peace?
Google doesn’t help much.
I tell others I am okay. No, I don’t miss him. I tell myself I am okay. No, I don’t miss him.
But, maybe instead of googling things, we should all just write down our truths instead of trying to hide them. Maybe we should speak up instead of silencing ourselves in fear of being shamed. Maybe we should be true to ourselves for once.
So, here is my truth:
I miss you on good days, on bad days, on warm nights, and on cold nights. I miss you when the sun is about to rise, and when the moon takes the sun’s place for the stars to cover the black sky.
I miss you when I watch people intertwine their fingers together. I miss you when I look at my dried out prom corsage. I miss you after I have dreamt about you and wake up in a sweat. I miss you when I don’t even know that I’m missing you.
And I miss you with every ounce of energy that takes to write this all down. But I am so tired of this feeling. I am so tired of it all.
A few years ago, I gave you a journal. On each page, I wrote out why I loved you.
I remember reading it to you in that fancy hotel. You smiled.
Things are different now. Years have passed by. And for you, I’m only a memory.
You are miles away physically, and miles away emotionally. This isn’t a love letter. This isn’t a dramatic plea for you to love me again. This is just my reality, and my thoughts that are flowing out of me so fast that I can hardly take a breath.
And so I admit, I still miss you sometimes. Maybe I miss you all the time. But, this isn’t a love letter to you. It’s a letter for me, to remind myself to keep on healing and to keep on going. Missing you does not define me. It does not diminish me.
And it never will.