Missing You

“Be careful who you invite into your soul.” - Unknown

Why didn’t I learn to treat everything like it was the last time? My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.

But honey, you can’t miss what you never had.

Somewhere a woman wakes in the night and knows / no one will ever write a poem for her

Not everything is supposed to become something beautiful and long-lasting. Sometimes people come into your life to show you what is right and what is wrong, to show you who you can be, to teach you to love yourself, to make you feel better for a little while, or to just be someone to walk with at night and spill your life to. Not everyone is going to stay forever, and we still have to keep on going and thank them for what they’ve given us.

All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire.

The Greek word for return is nostos. Algos means suffering. So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return.

I’m still writing about you and you haven’t read a word.

We all romanticize the people we adore.

But I tried, didn’t I? Goddamnit, at least I did that.

I know I have a heart because I feel it breaking.

I remember being very sad, and searching the world for some semblance of beauty. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, gentle and brooding. You took my sadness in your hands and kept it warm, so warm I think it melted, along with any fear I had of feeling affection from a friend. Things had changed. Like seasons come and go, almost instantly, with no warning. I woke up with the same intuition as when summer turns to fall, and I knew everything had changed. You handed back my sadness, melty and more pathetic than before, like the shattered smile of a snowman that has no idea spring is coming for him. You smiled at me, and put my sadness back where it belonged. I knew you didn’t mean to destroy me the way you did, I should have known anyway. It was never yours to bare. The kind of emptiness I carry in my back pocket, would never suit you for long. My silent burden was always looming, waiting to collapse on us my darling. With my misery in tact, I packed my bags and left your life. “for the best, for her, for the best”… just what I told myself on those endless car rides and it became my mantra, especially when I knew I didn’t belong any more. No matter how much it hurt. “Everything, for her”. Still, I don’t know if I’m doing better, I hope you are my flower. I wear my sadness again, like a shield and a burden, because no one else carries it quite like you did. So maybe I’m better, or maybe I’m used to it. Maybe the misery suits me, it probably suits me. All I know, for sure, is I find myself searching for beauty again.