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Friday, September 29, 2006

What Don't I Miss?

I miss you.
God, what don’t I miss?
I miss me when I was with you.
I miss laughing until we couldn’t and then crying because our stomach muscles hurt. I long for the time we wasted together. The way neither of us wanted it to end and how when I was convinced that I was the one who needed you – you’d call as soon as I left your house. I hurt for the time when I knew that I would always know you. I miss how happy you made me, even when things were very, tragically, horrifically unhappy. There are times when, briefly, I miss your skin. Nights when, just as I am about to drift off to sleep, I miss you next to me. I miss how, with you, nothing scared me. I, I . . .
I miss wanting you, but not you wanting me. I am glad that you don’t want me, sad and at the same time deeply relieved that you don’t need me anymore.
I hate that in this life I have lost the courage that you helped me find, the spirit that you restored. I am angry because inside myself somewhere I feel like only you can bring it back and yet, I am sure that you no longer can. I loathe being scared of everything and that I am scared of nothing, of air, of thoughts, of possibilities – good or bad. I despise that I am scared of, well, you.
I am terrified of you, of your voice, of your beautiful existence. I have nothing to give; I know that you are someone who will understand when I say that there truly is nothing left. I know that I am not who I was, and that I can no longer be who you would be looking for if you were to look for me. Again and again my day dream memories of us are interrupted with how disappointing things really are, how out of my hands and beyond me. There are very few others who make me feel this way, only one delicate fairy who invokes this feeling with more strength.
When you come near me the most infinitesimal part of me, deep inside, reaches out in evaporating hope, in desperate desire for a life long ago ended. A life cut wretchedly, disastrously short. While that minute ember of hope tries frantically to start a fire the rest of me, my body and mind, goes unbearably cold; withdraws from the conversation, disengages from you. I will never adapt to life without you, I will never stop feeling the break left deep inside. The scar that losing you has left on me will mark me always. I will never live a life in which you are not missed to the point of physical pain. Still, I am not certain if I could continue to exist should I have to lose you continually. I can not endure you fading in and out again and again, like a ghost, like our memories.
You have to see that I am hurting. If this, if all of this and us and the life I miss was ever real. If you ever loved me the way you seemed so scared to say you did, if you knew me better than I knew myself, then you must know that I am hurting. You must be aware, somewhere within yourself, that I am dying inside.


Blogger Kes said...

Much time has passed since you wrote these words, and I sincerely hope that the pain in them is no longer as sharp. I hope that the wound in being parted from one you love has healed a little.

Reading this felt as if you had stepped inside my troubled heart, my unquiet spirit. Although the pain is great... it is small comfort to know that mine is not the only life with such great love and such immense grief in it.

I hope this year brings you joy and kindred spirits to share it with.

3:38 PM  

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