This morning I woke up with a strange sadness lodged between my ribs. As soon as my eyes opened, it stumbled from nowhere, adhering itself where fingers cannot reach. It sings quietly, fervently. The tune is a slow-building monster, so hauntingly beautiful that it hurts to listen. And yet. And still.
On days like this, I do not speak. Not really. All my muffled words taste like other people’s prayers — things on fire or easily brought to flame. So, I am quiet, huddled against the silence of all the words held in.
There are so many things I want to say, but I don’t know where to start. I don’t know which truth to tell first. I don’t know if you could even hear it over the wailing of my heart. Past the sadness in my smile. I’m trying so hard not to let you see.
I think, though, I am failing. I think you’ve already seen all my secrets. This stellar, starry song of grief. I wonder if these things scare you. I wonder, worse, if I do.
A less brave person would not confess, but I’ve stripped my skin of that already. The damned truth is this: I miss you. I miss the sound of your voice, the timbre of your laugh, and the easy warmth of your smile — even when I cannot see it through the phone.
It has only been a few days since we spoke, but I feel like someone’s taken out my heart, dashed it upon my ribs, and shoved it back again. What is this madness?
I miss you.
I did not mean to and certainly not so fiercely. But there it is, the absence of you stuck between the teeth of my smile. It feels odd to miss a person so passionately, so insanely — but I do. Inside my heart there is a war, fought between loving and missing you.
Which side will win out? That story’s not yet mine to tell.