Tag Archives: years

Missing you.

It’s hard to say when my mood dropped.

It could have just been when I realized how tired I was. When I noticed my energy had left.

It could have been when someone started paying a little too much attention to me, the alcohol in him letting him speak more easily, more freely than normal. It could have been when he made a place on the couch for himself beside me- too close to me- and then talked my ear off. About nothing. The strongest parts of his personality showing themselves without apology. Mind you, those are the obnoxious parts of his personality. It could have been when I literally moved to a different part of the house and he followed me. Three times.

But it could have been when I turned to my friend and, from the side, with the light just right, he somehow reminded me of you. Of the smile I missed terribly. I’d had to squeeze my eyes shut against the familiarity and turn away.

I’m not supposed to miss you still. It’s been three and a half years. I’m not even the same person you knew. I’m not supposed to still get glimpses of you when I least expect it. When I haven’t even seen you in months. But I do. I can’t even say I wish I didn’t. Because I feel like I need to remember you, because I never want to forget you. Because, honestly? Remembering you might be painful, but the thought of forgetting you is so much worse.

Missing you.



Missing you.

Someone asked me the other day how I ever could have been friends with you.

For once, I tried to put myself in his shoes. Really, in their shoes. Because I know he wasn’t the only one. I knew how… hard you could be. I knew, vaguely, how other people saw you.

And I listened as he tried to explain why it never made sense that you and I were friends. How it never made sense to anyone. He said the same about another one of my friends too. Honestly, he doesn’t see much clearly. But I understand what he was saying. I mean… sort of. I understand what he thought he saw.

But that’s just the thing. He didn’t see you. He thought he did.

But he didn’t see the first time you spoke to me. I sat there quietly, just like I always do, and you made conversation with me. You know, I don’t remember the moment I first meet someone. Most of the time, you just wake up one day and you’re friends with someone and you can’t remember the moment it started. But I remember you. Because I could tell you…saw me. Do you know how rarely that happens?

He also didn’t see the time I had to deal with a death surrounded by people I barely knew. You were the only person here that I could tell. He didn’t see the way your face fell when I told you. You had no reason for your face to fall. You didn’t know them. But you let yourself feel my pain.

He thought he saw you. And maybe he did. But it wasn’t the real you. It was the hard you. The you others couldn’t see past. The you people were afraid of. Who pushed people away. Who constantly built up your walls, higher and higher. But he didn’t see that crack in your walls. Just barely big enough to let a grain of sand get through. And I got through.

I just… I didn’t know how many layers of walls there were. Not that that would have changed anything. Okay. Maybe it would have. Because I do hope I would have fought a hell of a lot harder than I did at the end.

What terrifies me now is that I know you’ve pushed me out. And you repaired that crack in that one wall. And your walls got higher. Stronger. And I’m… terrified you won’t let any one else find another crack. I’m afraid you’ve repaired them all so perfectly that no one else will even be able to think about getting through to you. I’m afraid you wake up every morning and take a walk around the wall, a bucket of mortar in your hand, and fill all the cracks, even add another layer of cement where you think it might be weak. And then, when you get a chance, you go out an buy a few more bricks and make the wall thicker and taller. And it’s just this ongoing process where you make sure that no one sees you.

Which… I don’t even think you see you. Actually, I know you don’t. Because you choose to see the you other people see in you.


Not me. Other people.

Because you never believed any of what I told you.

Oh, what did I tell him? When he asked why I had ever been friends with you?

I told him he never saw the you that I did. He didn’t see the way you talked to me. The way you cared for me. The way you were literally there for me whenever I needed you. I told him about the time when, at four in the morning, you were begging me to come outside to talk because you knew how badly I felt. Because you knew how much pain I was in and you knew I needed to talk about it.

I told him he didn’t actually see you.

Missing you.


Missing you.

I did something I probably shouldn’t have today.

In my defense, when I woke up, it didn’t take me very long to realize what day it was. If I could have just forgotten, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But I don’t forget stuff like this. So when I realized the date, reality hit me.

It has been three years since we last spoke.

It has been three years since I woke up to that horrible message. Three years since confusion and pain undid me. Three years since I was sick and literally green from crying, which I didn’t think was possible.

“Save your ammunition for somebody else; I’m all second chances.”

Three years ago, in the last conversation I had with you, you reminded me that you loved me. You assured me that everything would be okay. And I believed you. After all, you are my best friend.

You haven’t spoken to me since.

So, while I was cleaning tonight, I did something I shouldn’t have. I found the playlist you made for me and started listening. It took me back to a time when we used music as a drug. Maybe you still do.

I found myself on the floor, listening to one of the first songs you suggested for me. “I think about life and oh how it changes so fast. And oh how it’s so hard to last here waiting for something to give. I think about time. A luxury so hard to find and I just can’t figure out why I wasted it all here without you. But I’ll be fine, oh don’t you worry, because I’ll be fine. I’m in a hurry to be gone away awhile. Tell me all the things that I, I’ll be missing here in this old life, man, because I just don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Life does change pretty fast. In a day, I lost a friend who knew me and understood me better than any other friend I had ever had. Honestly, it was one of the worst days of my life. And time does seem like a luxury. Somehow, three years have past since I’ve spoken to you, and yet, you come to my mind all the time. And you were in a hurry to be gone. No explanation. You left so suddenly that sometimes I wondered it we had ever really been friends at all or if I had just lost my mind and made the whole thing up. But that doesn’t sound like me.

I just wish you would have stuck with me. I know I’m not the greatest person, but for goodness sake, I accepted every part of you! I adored your friendship. If nothing else, I’m loyal. I would have stayed beside you. I would have kept your darkest secrets. I would have helped you in any way I could. “Because I can feel your pain in my bones. I can feel your pain deep in my bones.”

But you pushed me away. You shoved me out of your life then turned your back as if you never knew me. And one of the worst things was seeing you after and still being able to read emotions you hid behind a very hard mask. Because you can’t just turn that off. I could read you like a book and I could tell when you were reading me. And I hated seeing you in pain.

And now it’s officially to the point that I’ll probably never see you again.

The last song on the playlist tells the listener to not blame themselves. “Oh don’t blame yourself. Because I know that you tried. You need someone to be, someone better than me, in your life.” But the truth is, I didn’t need someone better than you in my life. And don’t blame myself? You know me better than that.

How I wish the person I am now could go back to three years ago.

Missing you.


Quoted lyrics from Safteysuit, Paper Route, Andrew Belle, and Manchester Orchestra


Back in November, I wrote a blog about learning to hate what I once loved. It’s really weird. I’ve ripped that part of me out. I don’t want to be dramatic but… I feel like a part of me has died. I don’t enjoy what I used to anymore.

I… I want to know if that part of me can be revived. Not now. Not even soon. For a while, I need to act like it was never a part of me. I don’t want to be associated with it. I don’t want anyone to know me by that.

But in a few years? I don’t know. The problem is that what little confidence I had is gone and my insecurities eat me alive. They literally make me want to crawl into a dark hole or box and not come out for a very, very, very long time.

How silly is that?

Four years ago, or five or six or ever, I never would have guessed that this is where I’d be. I don’t know what I was thinking.

By the way, having something that is a part of you die is incredibly painful. It’s probably supposed to be. It sounds really stupid and it feels really stupid but I will literally never get this part of me back to the way it was. I don’t even remember exactly what it was like.

I just….honestly, it was stupid of me to ever think I could keep it alive.


Missing you.

I walked in and glanced through the small amount of people already there. I saw you instantly.

I always do.

Something in me knew it was you before it could register in my mind. I looked back again; yes of course it was you. Your back was to me. But I recognized your stance, the way you held your shoulders.

I ignored your presence, talked to the people I came with. We just needed to grab what we needed and walk right back out. I felt you looking at me; without thinking about it, I looked up.

Our eyes met.

I looked away before you could. I’m assuming you did within the next few seconds. I glanced your way again a moment later. Your head, still up, slightly tilted, as if you were listening to me and my friends.

I tore my attention away from you and for a few moments, I didn’t let my eyes drift your way again. As we left, I looked for you. You were sitting at a tall table beside your normal one, your back to me again. You were sitting alone.

You always were.

How can two people like you and me look at each other… as though we’re strangers? It’s amazing to me. You and I are the furthest thing from strangers people could ever be. How can people who know each other at the level we do really just look at each other and then look away as if we have never met?

I just don’t understand it. I cannot, in any way, wrap my mind around it. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not how life was meant to be lived.

Broken relationships were never part of the plan.

My word. How can I miss you this much after two and a half years?

Missing you.



I realized something this summer.

You know how people have dreams and goals and hopes for the future?

Yeah… I don’t.

I don’t know why. I used to dream about everything. I used to have the biggest dreams. I used to try to push myself toward them. Set goals. Try to reach them.

Then I stopped.

And you, know, I can’t figure out when that happened. When in the past four to six years I just stopped dreaming almost all together. But I did.

And I know why though.

If you don’t dream.. If you don’t have goals… If you don’t get your hopes up… Then you can’t watch them fall.

And somewhere in the past few years, I saw enough of my dreams die that I stopped having them. I got my hopes up enough times only to be utterly disappointed when something didn’t fall through that I learned not to get them up so high.

How depressing is that?! My goodness!

And I don’t even know if I should try to change it or if really, it’s smart not to dream. If you don’t have expectations, you don’t have anything or anyone failing to meet them.

I don’t know.