People Don’t Miss Me
I am not a person whom people miss. Oh, they miss me when missing me is mentioned, they miss me in return, but I am not a person that people miss simply because I am missing. I miss people. I miss them at two pm when I’m in school, and at two am when I’m exhausted. I miss them loudly, often. But I miss them quietly, constantly. Sometimes I miss them while they sit by my side. Sometimes I miss the memories more than the people, but often I miss simply being with them by my side. I don’t know how to love in halves, or by parts. I love fully, and I don’t quite know how to stop when the person is gone. They are missing from me, and it seems only right to miss them for it. But I am not a person whom people miss. For really, what’s to miss? But then I think, maybe I am a person whom people miss, and they simply don’t think to say it.
