When remembering hurts

I think I’ve mastered the art of missing you, somewhere in between

the 3am reruns of what I like to think we we were and

the countless mornings and afternoons recalling every line on your face,

the way your lips felt against mine that very first time,

the way your arms felt wrapped around me,

the way your eyes lit up when you smiled at me,

the way your hand felt against mine in your car as we drove to unknown destinations.

I like to think I know how to miss you right, but

it still shatters me to think of you, still hurts when I see her with you,

you look happier and in the times when I’m missing you, I find myself wondering why it couldn’t be me.

It’s not me you’re saying I love you to, it’s not me you’re falling asleep next to, waking up next to, living next to.

It’s not me you’re loving and I can’t help but wonder why I couldn’t be enough.

I don’t think I’m good at missing you at all.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s