Miss You
For a minute, ignore any preconceived notions and judgements about romantic cliches you might have. Just long enough to let these words connect with you.
Have you ever missed someone so much that your definition of absence has become rearranged into the invisible outline of their body next to yours, wrapped around yours, standing in front of yours? That absence no longer means negative space but is instead a seven letter word filled with all the heaviness of your own bodily awareness that they are not there?
Have you ever missed someone and are afraid to tell them? Perhaps out of fear that your absence does not equate this slow heartbreak you feel with every agonizingly slow countdown of the clock's tick, tick, tick? Or perhaps out of embarrassment that what you feel seems to fill the space of your body, your car, your house, yet wholly remains unseen to the naked eye? And isn't that the point of it all: you feel naked, as if they lovingly undressed your soul and left it bare for the world to see. Yet frightening as that vulnerability is, it compares not to the fear that they themselves see your naked soul--see it and do not miss it, do not love the blemishes, the fresh wounds, and the ugly scars, the imperfections and perfections with which you love them. On the other hand, perhaps they see it and love it, and choose not to choose you anyway.
Which is worse, do you think? Could all of this pain have been avoided if we, as people, simply started to live by the acceptance that love is never perfect and therefore will never be easy? If we started to say, “You are enough” instead of “I will find someone better”?
There is no better. There is only ever one you and me and someone else...whichever you choose.
Have you ever missed someone so much that your definition of absence has become rearranged into the invisible outline of their body next to yours, wrapped around yours, standing in front of yours? That absence no longer means negative space but is instead a seven letter word filled with all the heaviness of your own bodily awareness that they are not there?
Have you ever missed someone and are afraid to tell them? Perhaps out of fear that your absence does not equate this slow heartbreak you feel with every agonizingly slow countdown of the clock's tick, tick, tick? Or perhaps out of embarrassment that what you feel seems to fill the space of your body, your car, your house, yet wholly remains unseen to the naked eye? And isn't that the point of it all: you feel naked, as if they lovingly undressed your soul and left it bare for the world to see. Yet frightening as that vulnerability is, it compares not to the fear that they themselves see your naked soul--see it and do not miss it, do not love the blemishes, the fresh wounds, and the ugly scars, the imperfections and perfections with which you love them. On the other hand, perhaps they see it and love it, and choose not to choose you anyway.
Which is worse, do you think? Could all of this pain have been avoided if we, as people, simply started to live by the acceptance that love is never perfect and therefore will never be easy? If we started to say, “You are enough” instead of “I will find someone better”?
There is no better. There is only ever one you and me and someone else...whichever you choose.
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