I don't think people understand what happens to me after I see you. They think you bring me pain, and sadness, and leave me broken, because sometimes I cry after I've spent time with you. My mother hates you for that, more than anything. She doesn't understand. They don't understand. I don't cry because you make me sad. I cry because you make me happy. Spending any time with you fixes whatever it is in me that is broken and limping, and makes me whole while I'm with you. It's just that when that's over, even temporarily, normal feels a lot... suckier than usual. And that's why little things set me off, in the days after we're together. I cry a little easier, I'm a little unstable. Because I'm coming down from my best. Not down to my worst, just... back to what "most of the time" feels like. I only cry because I wish I could be that happy all the time.
Nobody gets that.
They all think you hurt me. Even when you were trying to, you never hurt me beyond repair. It was the losing of you that did all that, and it still does. When you leave a room, I feel it, in a little tiny echo. The panic and loss and sadness that comes with you being farther from me than you were a moment before. It's shades of that, when you move away from me in any way. But people just don't understand that the only things that can cause that kind of reaction are the best, most worthwhile, most precious things in our lives. So precious that the mere notion of being parted from them brings us a vertigo of terror. If nothing and no one were that important to me, I think my existence wouldn't mean a thing. All it is, when I'm sad in the days after we see each other, is simply this: That I miss you.
Nobody gets that.