I Miss You This Christmas And I’ll Miss You The Next

woman with christmas lights behind her and on her face
Kyle Sterk

I thought about texting you today. I don’t really know what I would say.

“I miss you.”
“Merry Christmas.”
“I’ve been thinking about you lately. Hope all is well.”
“With the holidays here, you’ve been on my mind.”
“Do you remember how we spent last Christmas? I’d give anything to go back to that night.”

That doesn’t even begin to graze what’s really on my mind. Doesn’t come close to even understating how I feel. If I was being honest what I would say is “even the letters in my name you carry in yours make me miss you, even they feel like they belong to you.

And yes, that’s a line from one of my poems, and yes, they’re still mostly all about you.

I really am thinking of you today because it’s Christmas. Mostly, because you’ve ruined December 25th for me. I can try all I want to paint over that night, but the wall started chipping away when December rang the doorbell. The paint isn’t enough to stop the memories from showing through. It’s never been, especially not today.

A year ago, I could, if at least for the night, call you all mine. You were the most celestial gift I had ever unwrapped and held in my hands.

I still remember how I felt that night. I must have looked in the mirror about a thousand times. I wanted to be lovely for you. I wanted you to remember me the way I was that night. I knew it could possibly be one of the last times. I sprayed my perfume in every place I knew you’d smell it: my hair, my neck, my chest, my clavicle, the inside of my thighs, my navel.

Before you were even on your way, I was already trembling. Trembling, not just because even after years of knowing you you still had the power to make me feel like a nervous schoolgirl. I was trembling because I knew exactly the things we would do together that night. I was trembling because you were a different kind of high. I was trembling because being in your presence brought things out of me and stirred things inside of me that I can only describe as cosmic. I was trembling because you and me were otherworldly.

I’d give anything to go back to that night you and I shared only with two bottles of wine and Christmas lights.

I still remember the way those lights bounced off of your skin; scarlet, like my flesh beneath your fingers. Scarlet, like my body in the wake of your vehement touch. I think of you today and all I feel is heat and I see is red. I think of you and the blood inside of me rises to my every surface.

I think of you and I can almost feel the warmth you radiated being that close to me. I think of you and I can feel your breath hot against my neck, I can hear your voice not saying, but moaning my name. I think of you and I can almost feel your hands bending me to your every will. I think of you and I lose my breath. I’m somewhere else, somewhere not here, somewhere I had only ever been when you were inside of me and your hand circled my neck. I think of you and I’m yours again.

With you it was always different. That night was no exception. I was reminded what it was like to be a woman in the wake of man who knew how to fuck. But the thing is, you and I, no matter our penchant for vehement touch, you and I were always making love. I never knew what it was like to make love with someone until you. No one before you, and nobody after you ever gave me that. For that I want to thank you.

When you touched me I truly believed I was beautiful. I didn’t just feel it everywhere your eyes and hands roamed, I felt it in places inside of me. I felt it in places only you could see. I felt it in places I didn’t know existed until you awakened them in me. I felt it in my bones, I felt it in my soul, I felt it in my being.

When I was with you I felt like being myself was perfect. I felt unapologetic for the things I sometimes wished I could change. When I was with you my flaws, skin deep or otherwise, were suddenly little gems unique to me that I didn’t want to let slip.

I thank you for that. I’ll miss feeling like that every day we don’t speak. No one may ever make me feel that way again. But still, I want to thank you for that. You may have been bad for my heart, but in more ways you were always so good for me.

I miss you. I miss you this Christmas. I’ll miss you next Christmas and every day between. I’ll miss the year after that, and again after that. I may always miss you.

Maybe that’s what I would say if I had the courage to send you a text today.

I loved you then, I loved you before, I may love you always. I would give anything to go back to that night. I would give anything to have shared more than one clandestine Christmas with you. Thank you for last year. Merry Christmas. I hope wherever you are today, you have that beautiful crooked smile on your face. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Houston-based writer and artist.

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