Lost Pages & Forgotten Words

I MISS

I miss you.

I miss us.

I miss the atmosphere.

I miss the feelings.

I miss the time.

I miss the way you made every atom of being being quake when you were around, the way they became active and shook with pure desire at the sight of you.

I miss the way our very beings became intertwined when laying together at night, like our souls weeped from our bodies and mixed into one as we laid them in the darkest of nights.

I miss the way you used to suck on my thumb, like deep down inside you there was a childlike urge which urged you to do this and gave you safety, the look of peace on your peace on your face was comforting.

I miss the way we used to kiss, how our lips trembled as they came together but our embrace contained nothing put strength and passion, our lips burned as our passion ignited.

I miss caressing your body, how I'd run my fingers down your arms when our naked vulnerable bodies laid next to each other, the lightening that coursed from my finger tips through my veins to my heart.

I miss the southing sound of your voice that wrapped it's way around my eyes and calmed the very anxieties that lurked in my head.

The way your very presence crawled under my skin and cradled me when it felt as though the world was relentlessly attacking me.

The way it seemed like it ways me and you against the world, partners in crime, star-crossed lovers... it was just me and you. The very metaphor of 'time standing still' became reality and the world just stopped when we were together.

Days and nights would pass us by as we laid, connecting spiritually, physically and mentally. The connection was electric, it burned, it roared, it raged, it was pure. It was true.

The way you undressed, the way you laughed, the way you looked when you were sleeping, the way you touched me and looked at me and kissed me and told me you loved me.

I miss loving you.

Now, all I can do is lay in my bed that feels so big and I'm so small and that it could swallow me whole, running my fingers carefully amongst the bed, allowing them to find your side that lays untouched and cold, my fingertips burn... but this time, it is not from the fire of our passions, it's from the icy cold absence of your being.

Now, all I can do is continue like everything is okay when in reality the absence of your presence under my skin leaves me vulnerable to attack from the world, it continues to attack, the relentless attacking.

Now, all I can do is face this world alone constantly feeling as though my own shadow is my only company and constantly feeling like the other part of me is missing.

Now, all I can do is desperately draw myself away from typing your name in a simple search and being delighted with your face, to stave myself of your soul.

Now, all I can do is pretend that I don't miss you, that any other persons touch is just as good as yours when I'm numb to all their touches.

All I can do is pretend you never existed and that you never hurt me and that you never lied to me, all I can do is pretend you're still here.

I'm raptured and cracked, I'm broken beyond repair and the soul is weeping out of me, searching for it's star-crossed lover.

I'm beaten and bruised, the scars will always remain and my tears scale my face with silent desperation.

I'm empty and vacant, when you left - you took me with you and left behind the shell, the lights are on but nobody is home.

I miss me.

I miss who I was.

I miss the atmosphere.

I miss the feelings.

I miss all the times when I used to be myself before you.

Now all I can do is tell myself I wish I'd never met you.

Now all I can do is tell myself that I never loved you.

Now all I can do is tell myself that I can live with you.

All I do is tell myself you never loved me.

That I'm better off without you.

That you're nothing without me.

That we need each other.

That I miss you.

That I love you.

I'm lying, but, about what?

It feels as though I am grieving having lost you, as though I wasn't presence for the fatality and I've been left behind whilst you've passed on,

All I can do is grieve without having grieved. Without having said goodbye the way I really wanted too.

Though, I find myself pondering, would it have even mattered if I knew it had been the last time?

You're not dead though, you're living. Metaphorically.

I've kept the version of you alive in writing and you will never die, I'm immortalised the version of you that loved me. That I loved.

However, you still exist in this world, away from me, loving again. I wonder if it's all the same or if it's better for you? What do you miss?

I miss everything.

Me, you, us, atmosphere, feelings, thoughts, time, memories.

I miss it all.