The end came suddenly – two days after an amazing weekend together.
Then your calls disappeared, your texts became less frequent.
By the time we had “the talk,” we both knew it had been over for weeks.
Even after time passes, here are some of the things I’ll still miss…
I’ll miss the way you always ran late, a dizzying whirlwind of panicked energy as you second-guessed your top or shoes, searched for your misplaced sunglasses, or keys.
I’ll miss our conversations as we jogged – alternating running and walking as the conversation came naturally, revealing truths heretofore unknown.
I’ll miss the way you carefully explained your dietary needs to our servers, even at those restaurants you’d frequented before.
I’ll miss how radiant you looked on stage, in your element as an actress – confident, in command, and happy.
I’ll miss how you called me up, grief-stricken at the news of a friend’s passing. I know you had many other friends to whom you could have turned. That you chose me, then a new addition to your life, meant the world.
I’ll miss the easy grace with which you danced, beauty personified.
I’ll miss how you listened – attentively and with your whole self, on the nights when I needed it.
I’ll miss the stories of your upbringing abroad, and subsequent world travels – the many journeys that shaped you into the amazing person you have become.
I’ll miss the subtle sway of your hips as you walk, drawing every eye in the room, although I’m fairly certain you’re oblivious to this attention.
I’ll miss how you could make my heart skip a beat with just a certain look. (There are times when subtlety fails me.)
I’ll miss your autonomy – the proven independence and strength of spirit borne of vocation and of beloved family members taken too soon.
I’ll miss the aftertaste of your kiss – the electric tingle your warm tongue left on my own for seconds after pulling away. I’d felt it before, but never as often, or as poignantly, as with you.
I’ll miss your sense of adventure – a willingness to explore new neighborhoods, restaurants and experiences with me with little prodding.
I’ll miss the phone calls—a rhythm all so rare in this age of texting—whether they were early morning check-ins – reminders to get to the gym – or late-night reviews of our respective days – brief discussions of short-term hypes and gripes, as well as near-term hopes and dreams.
I’ll miss the exact moment I realized that when you paid attention, you were unstoppable – picking up on subtleties in stories or the minute reactions in people’s faces long before anyone else.
I’ll miss the times we did nothing together – like while away an evening on the couch watching TV.
I’ll miss how you inspired me to stretch and try new things, take on new challenges and disciplines. Your ghost cheers me on even in your absence.
I’ll miss the passion with which you talked about your interests, from science fiction to breathing and posture – an excitement that was infectious, electric.
I’ll miss the way your smile would break slowly, until what started as a sly grin would eventually envelop your whole face.
But most of all, I’ll miss knowing the times that I was the catalyst for that smile, punctuating your day with new moments of joy.
Nicole Krauss once wrote, “Her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.”
Long after I’ve moved on, I know I’ll occasionally look back and mourn that for you, I didn’t get that chance.