I loved you while I sat in the passenger of your car with my hand intertwined with yours. We were driving home from a family function and were laughing about something that I can't recall, but it was a good laugh. The kind of laugh where you throw your head back and almost collapse from how hard you're laughing. There was a quick moment that I knew I loved you; in-between that fit of laughter and when I placed my head on your shoulder. I felt at ease and you felt like home and we stayed like that for the rest of the night.
I missed you in those moments when I felt lonely in bed. When the amount of space that occupied the mattress is vast and I have nothing to latch onto. Those nights felt long and never-ending and sleep was something foreign. Sometimes I wake up and make a cup of tea the way you like it, and when I do, I would fall asleep before even reaches my lips.
I loved you when I had a cold and I was using your bed as my own personal incubator. Days were full of soup and tea in bed watching bad YouTube videos. You refused to let a cold stand in the way of early morning kisses, and lazy afternoon kisses, and goodnight kisses. You woke up a week later with a cold and you said you wouldn't of had it any other way.
I missed you when I would find myself thinking about your family and how kind they were to me when I needed it the most. Even your brothers were wonderful. They didn't need to ask, I didn't need to say. They just knew.
I loved you in the moments when we would lay in bed with limbs intertwined. The light from your windows would trickle in and we would both wake up at the same time. You would make fun of me for always having to have one foot outside of the covers and it would get cold overnight. I would place my cold feet on top of yours and you wouldn't pull away, using yours to keep me warm. Sometimes napping is what brings two people together seamlessly. We were good at it.
I missed you when I would walk in the cold and I forgot my mittens and my right hand is freezing because it's used to being held onto your left hand, tucked neatly inside the pocket of your coat as we walked side-by-side. You would press your thumb into my hand, like it was a pressure point, and it was once something I felt long after you were gone.
I loved you when we danced in the kitchen late at night, my tights slipping on the dark hardwood floor as I spun in circles. We just finished a long week of work and were trying to unwind from the past week. I was a glass of red in and you were nursing a beer. I slipped and my wine stayed perfectly in my glass. You called me magic and sat on the floor with me. We stayed up talking long after our drinks were done and we could see each other's sleepy eyes forming. We would be exhausted in the morning and rushing off to our obligations, but with you there with your beer and my glass of wine, it felt like I didn't need to be anywhere else, with anyone else.
I missed you in those times when I did not know who to speak to. The words were there at the back of my throat. The people that love me were there, too. They were prepared for me to begin spewing words out; to scream, to cry, to talk. But nothing happened, nothing was said, and it was because they weren't you. I missed you then. I missed you then a lot.
I loved you in all the ways I shouldn't of loved you back then. When I couldn't find the strength to love myself. When I wasn't ready to be loved. When you weren't ready to be loved. When I loved you and you loved me and it was all in the wrong ways and at the wrong time. I loved you even when the timing wasn't right. I'll always remember that time as being one where I loved you but it wasn't right.
I missed you when I knew you were long gone. When you were lightyears away even though you were laying in bed right beside me. I missed you even when your hands didn't feel familiar anymore and the tone of your voice changed from loving to annoyed to abrupt and harsh without realizing it. I missed you when I knew it was ending. I missed you when it was days, weeks, and months over. I missed you even when I didn't really miss you anymore. Nostalgia has a funny way of doing that.
Now I only reminisce on those times of loving and missing. Sometimes it's when I'm curled in bed reading a book or watching a movie and a character says something that sounds like something you would say. Sometimes it's when I'm talking about a story and I leave you out of it. Sometimes it's when I'm walking and find my hands are cold. Sometimes, it's when it's February 16th at 1am and I'm writing and listening to a soft song that reminds me of the time when I loved you and missed you and hated you for how it all ended.
Sometimes, it's when I think about how much I learned about what love is and love isn't with you. How I learned about missing someone and nostalgia and learning that sometimes, not everything is as good as we remember it. But sometimes I remember that in some moments, it was that good - a lot like a story where the two main characters persevere and all is well in the end. It didn't, but that doesn't mean it was all bad. Now there is something to look back on - not necessarily with longing or with love, but with fondness of a time where I was able to love and miss someone recklessly.
twitter instagram pinterest bloglovin' facebook