How I Miss You

Yes I do miss you. So much, that it breaks my heart. I don’t know whether you miss me as well. I stay up late at night so I can speak to you. Your voice is the last thing I want to hear when I fall asleep so that it goes deep into my sub-conscious and stays there forever. It’s painful to miss you.

 Sometimes I want to isolate myself, physically. I want to lock myself in a room and limit contact with you and the rest of the world. I do it because I have to, because today I need to find myself. I want to remove myself until I am lonely, until I can’t stand to stay away longer. I need to do this because everything I do and everywhere I go feels like a prison cell.

Or maybe I should remove myself, mentally. That’s the hardest thing to do. I want to challenge the distance between our minds. That’s exactly what I am doing since the past one month- picking up an empty argument , refusing to yield to any solution and looming in the void you have created, harping on the memory of certain days, days that are long gone. Those few days I spent with you are like summer. The walk in the rain and the evenings in your flat are etched into my memory in black ink. I remember all the things you said, I remember the gentleness, the urgency, the rain, the wetness and the cold and I miss you.

I have taken inventory of my life and I know what’s gone missing. The easy company. The long talks. The secrets. Your voice. Your presence. These are things I now know exist but had never taken special notice of before. Now they’re showing up to make me realize that I am never going to find them in someone else. They are my joy and my happiness comes from them. Now they are out of reach because you are withholding them from me.

I want to regain what I have lost but I have trouble expressing myself. I try to talk normally but I end up choosing all the wrong words, “I am busy”,  or “How was your day?” or “I have been reading this fantastic book” but all of the sentiments just scream out of my mouth as “I miss you.” Every gap in the conversation simply says “I miss you.” And the worst feeling comes when you know all about my pain but you refuse to do anything about it.

I want to miss you until you come back, or until I come back, until your absence in my life becomes something to be avoided permanently. I will miss you until it feels like you never left. Or I will miss you until you can’t anymore, until the things I miss are identified as things and not you, until I can find a way to figure out how easy company, long talks, the secrets and your voice and your unblinking, all-knowing eye contact will find me again the way they did at the first time.