And they don't know what it is to kiss the better half of you goodbye far more often than one should ever have to
That heartache
These empty hands
Throbbing temples and tears that surprise you at midnight when you allow yourself one moment to miss him
To really miss him
To smell his clothes, to lay your head on his pillow, to crawl into the memory of him.
To relive your last moments together
They don't know what this is
And some days, neither do you.
What are we doing? And what do you say to someone who you haven't spoken to in weeks? Months?
There are no words for this type of longing
No string of sentences that make up for months of silence
No amount of time could hope to make up for all the moments missed
All the memories stored for tabled conversations, forgotten
They don't know what it is to feel this pain
How you used to hate public places and now, for some unexplainable reason, you find yourself drawn to them
Constantly searching for him
Any face could be his if you miss him hard enough
The feeling in your gut when you're driving and your muscle memory directs your right hand over to the passenger seat
Grasping for something that is not there
And what was it, love? His hand?
Your fingers fell through the air and landed on cheap polyester instead
The feeling pulls at your heart, is now our moment to miss him?
the tears ready at the flood gates, but no, love, now is not your moment.
Because there are things to be done and places to go. There are sights to be seen and people to be spoken to. There is sunshine to be felt, and rain too. There will be rain. Love, some days, there will be so ******* much rain.
They do not know this pain.
But they could not possibly imagine the flowers that bloom in your chest; the summer air that fills your lungs; the culmination of every last one of their best days all made into one; the feeling of knowing, of being absolutely certain that every last bit of this pain is worth it all.
Because, love... there are brighter days ahead.