This Is When You’ll Miss Me

You won’t ever see it coming, the heaviness of my absence. One night, when you think you’re fine, you’re going to miss me. You will turn to the addictions that stole you from me. The booze and pills in your bloodstream will tell you that you’re fine. But, late at night, when you’re coming down and the darkness creeps in, you will miss me.

You will miss me when my favorite song finds you on the radio. You will be driving through our hometown with the top down on the raggedy old car that I loved. You will be flipping through the radio stations, because you never could settle on a song, and that familiar melody will travel through the airwaves and hit you right in your heart. Your passenger side will look empty without me sitting there, singing along, and begging you to sing with me. You will look over to roll your eyes at me, but I won’t be sitting there. And you will miss me.

You will miss me when somebody mentions my favorite book. You will remember how it made my eyes go starry, and my troubles fade away. For a second, you will consider finally reading it, like you always promised you would. When you get home, you will see the copy I left on the nightstand on my side of the bed. You will notice that the bookmark has been unmoved for over a year, and you will miss me.

You will miss me when your travels take you to Nashville, Tennessee. You will remember how, on a rainy day in November, you asked me not to go. You will picture me sitting in front of you, telling you about my dreams and my plans, and you will picture yourself begging me to stay. When you walk down broadway or music row, the city lights will remind you of all the things I gave up for you, and my willingness to do anything for you. And you will miss me.

You will miss me when you hear about my new life. A mutual friend from our younger days will mention me in passing, or at a party, and it will hit you like a brick. They will tell you that I’m doing well, and that they really think I’m going to be somebody. They will awkwardly apologize, forgetting for a moment that you and I were not always long lost friends, but lovers instead. You will say that you’re happy for me, and then excuse yourself, and then go home alone.

When you’re home, and you realize how empty your bed feels, you will wish that you hadn’t given up on us. You will feel the ghost of me laying beside you, whispering how much I love you and kissing you goodnight. You will reach over and long for the feel of my skin on your skin. You will miss me.

This is when you will miss me

This is when you will miss me.