they talk about missing people as if it's something they only feel, like the scratching and melting of pulling on old sweater, or the hollow shudder winter leaves in your bones. but it's less like only feeling and more like living with an ache that becomes as much a part of you as your fingers or how your eyes disappear when you laugh or the freckles that find your face in the summer.
with features, you can pinpoint each one, and so it is with missing. monday morning and I am missing you, tuesday afternoon and I am missing you, wednesday all day and I am still missing you. you carry the culmination of the moments, in small and simple ways, and in the end it didn't matter if they were good or bad, just that they were and for once, that was enough.
characterized by when : when he played with your hair, when your favorite smell of was lemon and wood, when you listened to the same album seventy times and swore you'd never get tired of it. marked by how : you picked blueberries almost every morning that summer, you biked to the sleepy town with him and skinned your knee, you lived in his sweatshirt smelling like rain. and more often than not, it's by what it's missing : cheap pizza by candlelight, a hand to hold, someone to understand your movie references, a way to say I love you without any words.
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just a personal writing piece
(fiction, i may add :)
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