Maybe when I close my eyes and picture your face, it’s not that I’m longing for you. Maybe instead I’m longing to be looked at like that again, longing to have someone search my eyes for answers, or let their gaze linger on my lips in the moments before a kiss.
Maybe when my mind drifts and I remember the way your hand felt in, it’s not that I miss your calloused fingertips. Maybe instead I miss how it feels to have someone hold me, to rub their fingers against mine so tenderly, to feel the warmth of a lover’s touch.
Maybe when I hear that song breaking through the radio static, I’m not aching for the nights we’d sip drinks on the back patio, watching the stars float lazily through the sky and talking about our futures as if there was nothing to fear. Maybe instead I just miss a body next to mine, a heart opening and sharing its secrets.
Maybe I don’t miss you, I just miss the memories.
Maybe it’s not the way you kissed me, or how your touch made me feel alive. Maybe it’s not the way my body melted into yours whenever we kissed. Maybe it’s not the way I could feel my heart beat a little harder at the mention of your name.
Maybe those are all beautiful things, but maybe I don’t miss them for the right reasons.
Maybe when I remember all that we had, all that we were, I’m missing the feeling of having a person, my person. And maybe my heart is lying, and I really don’t miss you.
Maybe I ache for someone to laugh with me, to stay up late and make patterns of the cracks in the ceilings. Maybe I want someone to share coffee with, since caffeine makes my chest hurt. Or maybe I want someone to listen to my dreams and wishes, and maybe I want to listen and soak someone’s hopes into my skin.
Maybe I want an arm around my shoulder as we walk down the city streets, watching the stoplights change and racing across them as the lights change, fearlessly and stupidly, like teenagers. Maybe I don’t want to feel alone when its night and I return to the cool pillows on my bed.
Maybe I just want someone to call mine.
Or maybe I’m just lying to myself, and what I’m really missing is you.