I’m not having a good night.
It used to be, this feeling came at 2am, long after the sun had set and the world had fallen asleep. Now I find myself sitting alone in the middle of the afternoon, feeling that familiar ache, that familiar longing. The truth is–I miss him. Sometimes it’s so easy to pretend I don’t, that everything is okay, that this, too, will pass. But sitting alone in my bed, on a Sunday night like we used to do, I miss him. I miss his touch, I miss his skinny waist, I miss his stupid jokes, and the way he would always pull me in closer when we were lying in bed together. The way he would get drunk and sing love songs to me, whispering them into my ear. I miss the way he would grab me, and pull my close, dancing without music.
I don’t want to, god I don’t want to. But I miss him.
I know I should just think of the bad moments, of the last couple months–of the silence, or the strained conversations. But that’s not what keeps coming back. I’m thinking back to that night in July, when the two of us sat in my living room and he sang to me. And he told me he loved me, over and over. And he made me promise that I would love him always. It seems like a million years ago, and maybe it was just a moment. Maybe there is no going back to a summer night when everything was perfect. But if that’s the case, shouldn’t it be easy to let go? I want to let go.
I never wanted to fall in love. After everything that happened with Andrew, the last thing I wanted was to fall in love. Because I knew this would come… that love songs would make way for the bad. Nothing good can last forever. And if it’s one thing I’ve learned too hard, it’s that everyone leaves eventually.
I just wish I wasn’t the girl so easy to leave.