I know I said I missed you.

I know I said it with conviction. And a touch of my typical sassy spirit. My eyes might have twinkled. And I might have even attempted a wink to soften the seriousness of the words.

I know I said it again and again. And each time I believed it. I believed I missed you—your curly, unkempt hair, your gold-flecked chestnut eyes, and your floundering soul.

I believed it.

But I think I was wrong. And, worse, I think it may have been a lie.

What I really meant was more complicated and layered and multi-factorial.

What I meant cannot be encapsulated in a mere three words. What I meant is more, so much more. And also, it is so much less.

What I meant wasn’t that I want you still.

We both know we didn’t ever belong together—not even then and certainly not now.

What I meant didn’t have anything to do with our present or our future.

Because let’s face it—we don’t have either.

What I meant was rooted only in a flicker of a memory from the past…

What I meant was that I miss the feeling of a man’s hand in mine—strong and a little rough.

And the sound of laughter on the other end of the phone line.

I miss seeing eyes light up when I prance into a room and tell a joke or accidentally bury my foot so far down my throat.

I long for a body next to me during the night and warm feet upon which I can thaw out my own perpetually freezing toes.

I miss having a partner in crime on my adventures into lunacy. And a co-conspirator in my Pinky and the Brain-style nightly shenanigans.

I miss the version of me that blossoms when I’m in love—the part that flourishes in the warmth of having someone to care for.

I miss spending time picking out just the right card to put words to the pulse of my tender heart.

And penning my own words upon the inside covers of books and sticky notes and photos that I later secretly stow away for you to find when you least expect them but most need them.

I miss scouring magazines for recipes I can whip up and share.

And I miss waking up to the scent of a man’s cologne on my pillow.

I miss all those special things that come along with companionship—the fruit of a synergistic relationship.

When I said I missed you, I thought I did.  But when I think about it—I don’t miss anything singularly about you.

So I guess I was wrong when I said I miss you.

Because I don’t think I do.

The truth is I miss that version of me that is so effortlessly present when I have someone to love.

So I think I’ll scurry off, find her, and remind her that she always has herself to love.

 

relephant favorite:

 

A Love Letter To Myself.

When things get tough, our urge is to tough it out. How to turn obstacles into opportunities:

Author: Jessica Chardoulias

Editor: Travis May

Photo: Milan Popovic/Unsplash