Tag Archives: missing

Missing you.

I want you to know I was walking with a friend tonight and you came up. I’ve never talked to him about you.

I want you to know that when he asked, I couldn’t say your name. No one here in thisĀ  place has ever heard your name come from my lips.

I want you to know that what you did still hurts. I know it’s been six years.

I want you to know that the loyalty I have toward you is still very real. Sometimes that’s why I don’t like telling people about you. Because when I do, other people get mad at you. When I tell them what happened, no matter how bright a light I paint you in, they don’t like you. And I hate that.

He told me that, when it comes to friendship, once I’m friends with someone, I’m friends with them forever. I didn’t know people could read that about me. I wonder if he could feel it because he’s one of those people.

You were too.

The difference is I tell myself that he could leave me and disregard my friendship any time he wants. That’s completely his prerogative. If he decides he’s done being friends with me, it will be horrible. But it will be his choice and if he wants to make that choice, I will be okay with it.

With you, I told you I was afraid of people leaving me and you told me you never would.

And then you did.

I’ve learned, and am learning, to hold friendships closely but loosely. You were the reason I had to learn.

And still, I’m missing you.




Missing you: a poem.

Four years, past to present

Yet you grace my latest dream

Unsettling, your kindness torn away

An understanding nestled in your eyes

One you ignore and I

Lean in toward

Four years, past to present

Your voice has left my memory

Your words that used to haunt

Have drifted away with the dandelions

In the unbearably strong wind

I cannot call your voice back to my mind

And mine is lost in the distance

Four years, past to present

All we shared


You thought it was a clean break

I have tried, desperately,

To control the bleeding

Left to manage the frayed ends

Four years, past to present

To the day

Reminded of the date

A heaviness rested upon me

Upon every limb

Upon my face

My chest

Dragged down to the deepest parts

No energy, no reason to fight

Not today


Tomorrow the sun will wake me

And I will dance through every moment

I will smile and laugh and embrace

But today, I remember this

Remember you

Four years ago today

Of all the days I have been alive

That was one of the worst

Followed by months and months

And months of heartbreak

Today I feel the continuing effects

Like a wound that never properly healed

That still smarts when it rains

And today the clouds are covering

Four years, past to present

With not a word from you

No appology

No excuse

Not even an explanation


I feel you missing from me

Missing you.



I read the same book twice a year.

I’m not quite sure why. From a writers perspective, it has some flaws. And honestly, it’s not the best story line in the world. But it’s my favorite book. So I read it. Again and again and again.

I miss my college friends. I miss Clark. I shouldn’t miss Clark. I have reason to believe that he has or has had feelings for me. But he has a serious girlfriend. Not to mention, I’m not interested. But he’s one of those people. I literally long to be around him. I actually crave his presence. Because he’s comfort. He’s like a freaking big teddy bear. I almost wish I was interested just so that the feeling would make sense. I can’t explain it to anyone because they’d probably think I was crazy.

Do you know people like that? That just put you at ease?

And I hate it. I hate it so much because I want him to not have feelings for me and I truly want it to work it out with his girlfriend. So… Shouldn’t I try to stay away from him? I did try that once and the poor boy could tell something was wrong.

You can’t hurt Clark! It’s like wounding your favorite puppy!

I love him. In a completely platonic way, I love him. And I miss him.

And my mind flies back to a time when I thought I was going to have a panic attack and he wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly and told me, “you got this.” And I didn’t want him to let go because I felt like someone cared and I felt safe. I felt comfort.

I read the same book twice a year.

The story warms me. It’s familiar. It’s safe.

It’s comfort.