If you were here, in front of me, with all arms and legs and skin, I would show you the dark grey cloudy skies and ponder about its dark beauty. I would talk about my day and spice it up to sound more entertaining for you. I would finally take those walks you keen nagging me about, as long as you were next to me. I would watch your eyes as they gave me all the attention in the world, as you smiled at my every silly tale. The clouds roared in protest as the rains threatened to fall on our heads, but as long as you were there, I didn't think it would matter to either of us. We would watch the waves running back to sea, as the sea pushed it more and more towards the sand. You would probably come up with an anecdote about how even the waves know better than to try and touch humanity, as people sunbathed on the sand. Only you could do that, turn something into something so beautiful, yet intriguing. Your anecdotes and analogies about the world and the way it functions are some things I've always admired about you. The conversations we would have, or the things we would ponder about, are things only you and I ever pondered about. Conversations went beyond the limited bounds of just being conversations. Debates were what it ought to be, rational, unemotional and patiently hearing all sides and making sincere efforts to listen to the opposite side. We didn't need small talk or ice breakers, conversations just flowed through. Even the silences we shared seem appealing to me right now.
I guess I just miss your presence, the true essence of your very being, your familiarity, your physical manifestation to almost everything about you. I wonder if you were here, what would be going on in that brain of yours. What would we be talking about? What exactly would we be doing? What worldly knowledge would you impart as I try not to zone out? If I could go back, I would devote all attention to you.
But such is not life. If life is what we make of it, as you always say; then I wish to make life alongside you and go back and give you everything and more. But life is funny that way, and you don't get to pick and unpick the moments you can live in nor the people in it. I guess I miss your voice, your laughter, the light in your eyes, now which live in a memory. Who knew I would memorize all these tiny details about you, and live in it every time my heart tugged to see you once again. My mind is a memory map, where I trace back all the places and things we've done together. It's hard to put it into emotions, but I guess the world would call it as longing?
Here's to everyone and anyone who misses someone, here's to you. It's hard to talk about a feeling that you experience every time you try to live one of your memories. It's not even remotely tangible and you can't explain why you miss them sometimes. Missing is sometimes taken as an emotion that springs up every time someone's absence is felt. An absence of their presence or familiarity in our lives. But I like to think, true longing, true missing is an emotion that happens in kind of a revelation of sorts. When you realize how much you would miss that person, even if they were in front of you. That is when the heart truly longs and misses someone. So my advice? Go ahead, miss them. But don't drown yourself in the missing if you don't know how to swim and find yourself some dry land.
So here's my small, seemingly insignificant blurb for anyone and everyone who misses somebody. You go right ahead and miss them, but remember tomorrow is a new day and life must move on. Such is this life, living in memories in a temporary relief, but the reality is still your present and you have to face it irrelevant. There's no escaping that. I hope you find solace in this written piece whenever the longing gets overwhelming.
- much love xx
- fin -
I guess I just miss your presence, the true essence of your very being, your familiarity, your physical manifestation to almost everything about you. I wonder if you were here, what would be going on in that brain of yours. What would we be talking about? What exactly would we be doing? What worldly knowledge would you impart as I try not to zone out? If I could go back, I would devote all attention to you.
But such is not life. If life is what we make of it, as you always say; then I wish to make life alongside you and go back and give you everything and more. But life is funny that way, and you don't get to pick and unpick the moments you can live in nor the people in it. I guess I miss your voice, your laughter, the light in your eyes, now which live in a memory. Who knew I would memorize all these tiny details about you, and live in it every time my heart tugged to see you once again. My mind is a memory map, where I trace back all the places and things we've done together. It's hard to put it into emotions, but I guess the world would call it as longing?
Here's to everyone and anyone who misses someone, here's to you. It's hard to talk about a feeling that you experience every time you try to live one of your memories. It's not even remotely tangible and you can't explain why you miss them sometimes. Missing is sometimes taken as an emotion that springs up every time someone's absence is felt. An absence of their presence or familiarity in our lives. But I like to think, true longing, true missing is an emotion that happens in kind of a revelation of sorts. When you realize how much you would miss that person, even if they were in front of you. That is when the heart truly longs and misses someone. So my advice? Go ahead, miss them. But don't drown yourself in the missing if you don't know how to swim and find yourself some dry land.
So here's my small, seemingly insignificant blurb for anyone and everyone who misses somebody. You go right ahead and miss them, but remember tomorrow is a new day and life must move on. Such is this life, living in memories in a temporary relief, but the reality is still your present and you have to face it irrelevant. There's no escaping that. I hope you find solace in this written piece whenever the longing gets overwhelming.
- much love xx
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