The Way I Missed You

Today was the first time in months that I could honestly say that I missed you. Not who I thought you were, and definitely not in a hateful “how-dare-he-break-my-heart” kind of way. It was more a “he-would’ve-loved-this” or a “he-used-to-do-that” kind of way. I know, it surprised me too.

I missed you in a way that it tensed every muscle in my body. In the way that it hurt so bad, yet when I remembered the way you look right before you kiss me, I warmed and every muscle in my body relaxed altogether.

I missed you in a quiet, internal bleeding kind of way. The kind where you don’t notice the pain until it’s unbearable, and you’ll definitely need a doctor. Surgery (and therapy), not optional.

I missed you in the way it feels to hold a warm cup of tea on a dark and rainy day. The kind of day where you cuddle up with all the blankets on the couch while pretending the rain isn’t pelting harshly against the windows. On the outside I was cold, but under all those layers, I felt warm like a sunny day.

I missed you like an inside joke with no one to share it with. It left me feeling empty and the joke completely meaningless.

I missed you when I fell between the little crack between my bed and the wall. Every night you were with me, no matter what, you had stopped me from sleeping there. A time when even in my twin sized bed made for one, I never fell out because all through the night, you were there holding me tight, never letting me close enough to fall.

I missed you in the mornings where I made myself scrambled eggs and tea. For some reason, no matter how hard I tried, I could never get them as good as yours.

I missed you in the way flowers lose their petals – naturally, openly, beautifully. Unashamed and unapologetic.

But I missed you most when I looked up at the stars in the velvet sky and remembered the best gift you ever gave me. I missed you when I knew that I would compare every gift to yours – and everyone to your thoughtfulness.

I missed you because I could remember everything. I remember the mornings I would wake up in your arms. I remember the way you looked when you kissed me. I remember the way your eyes lit up when you were excited. I remember the way you smirked when you knew something I didn’t, when you were trying to keep a secret. I remember the way you loved that hideous burnt orange “old man” rocking chair. I remember the way you loved watching lazy Sunday cartoons on it. I remember how much you loved and were loved in return.

And for all these reasons and more, I remember how much I loved you.

But I also know that I don’t love you anymore, for all the things I can remember will never be enough to compensate for the fact that I don’t love you in that over-the-moon, burning, yearning, self-destructing kind of way. Not anymore.

Yet, it doesn’t hide the fact that there is a part of me still does love you – in a silent, secret, hidden away kind of way. And that’s okay, I think. And I think it’s okay that you don’t either.

I’m grateful for the time I had to get to know the person you hid from the rest of the world. I don’t think I could ever regret the person I became when I was with you.

But now I’ve become a whole new person. All on my own, complete and happy – without you. See, I told you I could do it. I never needed you, but boy, if only you’d known how much I wanted you.

And I hope one day if we ever meet again, you will be proud of me. Because I hope you know I am. Proud of me, I mean. And proud of you too, for everything you’ve wanted to do and have done, for everything you’ve accomplished. I know you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now and, you and I both know how much you deserve it.

Much like how we both deserve to let each other go. I want to not miss you anymore. And I will.

Just not today.