I miss you.
I miss what we were.
I miss your face and how your eyes scrunched at the corners when you concentrated a little too hard. How your hair looked when you ran your hand through it for the thousandth time today just like your father. I miss how Saturday afternoon coffee could turn into three am pitchers of beer and blurry conversations we couldn’t remember in the morning. How we laughed in the back of your friend’s car when they picked us up from the bar and our words came out slurred but we tried to act sober.
I miss you.
I miss you like I miss home. Your arms became a couch I’d confide in after a long day. Your cologne lingered in my apartment for a week and on my clothes for a month. I still find cigarette butts around my place every once and a while and can’t help but remember all the times you woke me up at dawn just to watch the sunrise. You’d say ‘the world was more beautiful when fewer people were up to disturb it’ and you’d hand me a decaffeinated tea because you knew I didn’t like coffee. I miss it. I miss early morning wake ups and questionable nights. No good decisions were ever made at two am but that didn’t stop us from making them. We’d listen to drunken boys stumble by outside, as they laughed a little too loud and sung out of tune. And it’s been so long that you’d think I would have moved past this, moved past you. But I can’t. Or I won’t. I still haven’t decided which.
I miss how we used to sneak into castle ruins at night and lay in the courtyard just to see the stars clear as day. Pointing out constellations, you’d tell me the history of their names and the Gods they represented while muttering about orbits and how we’re all stardust. Your rambling became the soundtrack of my year and it was one I never could stop listening to. But like every soundtrack, it has an end. After the last note is sung and the last key is played, a bitter silence envelops the room until you realize you have to choose a new CD to listen to. You have to memorize new lyrics to someone else’s coffee order. You have to relearn how to be yourself again as if you had never once been attached to another body.
It happens to everyone.
© 2017 Reef Magazine