Something called “I Miss”

(At the risk of turning people away, I decided to put another piece of writing on here. I’ll bring more of the funny soon enough.)

I miss feeling Her warmth next to me in bed at night. We used to lay for hours together, our arms around each other to shield out the world. Sleep was replaced by long, soft kisses and sweet words that danced from our lips. Even when I did sleep, I could feel Her as if Her body was my own, a shared heartbeat and spirit.

 

Now, my hand caresses the sheets, tracing the lines where a faint reminder of Her shape remains. Closing my eyes, I try to summon those thoughts and feelings, attempting to recreate what was. Yet, all that remains is the smooth silk and the cool breeze flowing through the open window, no one there to complete the shell.

 

I miss Tuesday nights on the couch snuggled next to Her. When She would lay across my lap, my arm cupped Her head, cradling Her softly in my arms. My other arm sat just above Her knee, slowly gliding up and down Her leg from time to time. Each time Her chest took a breath, I could feel the same gust of air filling me.

 

Today I sit in a chair across the room, my eyes watching our ghosts of yesterday. The couch remains empty, a lifeless form existing with no purpose. When I come home each day, the glassless mirror calls for me, a teasing wail that my sanity will only let me refuse if I listen to its words.

 

I miss walks in the park on summer afternoons. Those days were a timeless existence where we stood alone in our togetherness. Yesterday meant nothing and tomorrow was a mirage. Each time She held my hand tighter than before as we strolled past the river, the gleam of a present heaven blinding our eyes with each closer step.

 

Here I am by the water’s edge with only a rose to slide in my hand and twist between my fingers. My strength only allows me to come at night, leaving the daytime paradise to the deserving souls. The dark water calms just as well as the light – except the hurt remains without the influx of hope and promises of salvation.

 

I miss dinners in the dim lights of the finest restaurants. Seated in a booth removed from the world, our eyes looked upon one another, my hand brushing aside Her hair from Her cheek and rubbing across the smoothest silken skin. I spent hundreds of days peering into Her eyes in those booths, and could have spent thousands more.

 

These days my evenings are spent at my own table, looking at the other chairs in succession for hours. My only dinners are single tables in the center of the dining room, stroking the napkin in hopes that it might become Her hand. But the lamp is nowhere to be found.

 

I miss the love, the passion, the unbridled sense of belonging that She gave me everytime my eyes laid upon her and She returned my gaze with the smile to brighten all the towers of Heaven.

 

I miss Her.

 

I miss You.