Sometimes
I'm stuck on the side of the road driving up from New York City. The bus has broken down and we're all stranded on an unlit, unfamiliar road in a township I've never heard of. The silence is broken with hushed sounds of passengers anxiously breathing and cars on the street rushing past.
In moments like these my mind will wander. In bursts, the memories demand to be heard and I struggle to shake them.
Sometimes I miss you.
It always happens at night when the lights are off and my guard is down. The thoughts creep back, followed by tangled emotions. They act as painful reminders of how we screwed this up. I think about you but only in glimpses, only of the times that you would love me the way I needed to be loved; desired me the way all lovers should. And even now, it stings when my mind casts me back to you.
You'd kiss me and dissolve my doubts; you'd listen and abolish my fears; you'd tell me essential things I didn't always want to hear, even if it hurt seeing me in tears. I took your honest nature for granted, and mistook it for simplicity.
I think about the hours we spent grocery shopping, needlessly disagreeing on what to put in the cart. Or the times we danced in the kitchen to pop songs on the radio, the ones you shamefully admitted you liked. I am reminded of our: morning routines, midnight walks, and bottomless coffee conversations.
Some things I'll never forget, like the way my body effortlessly fit with yours. While, other things are harder to write about. I can't put down in words what happened without exaggerating the wrong parts or ignoring the important ones. I can never remember it the way I'd like to, piecing together why I could only understand the love once it had gone.
The most I can do is use someone else's words -
Some things I'll never forget, like the way my body effortlessly fit with yours. While, other things are harder to write about. I can't put down in words what happened without exaggerating the wrong parts or ignoring the important ones. I can never remember it the way I'd like to, piecing together why I could only understand the love once it had gone.
The most I can do is use someone else's words -
"I am in love with the presence of your words and the feel of your existence. But I am not in love with you."
And despite my efforts, sometimes I miss you.
But only in the night's piercing silence am I forced to listen to these thoughts.
And only then, do I admit this momentary defeat.
But only in the night's piercing silence am I forced to listen to these thoughts.
And only then, do I admit this momentary defeat.
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