I Miss You Sometimes
I miss you sometimes. Sometimes I lie in bed thinking of you, wondering where you’ve gone. I wonder if you are gone forever, and sometimes I wonder if you were ever really here, or if you were some myth I created in my mind. An illusion. Sometimes I feel you but a breath away, and then something happens and you disappear. I wonder if you’ll ever come back.
I miss you sometimes, when the house is still and I have nothing but my thoughts with which to contend. I miss you when I feel brief moments of happiness, but part of me pushes them away. My soul aches for you when I’m all alone, and uncertain of my future.
I miss you, the woman I used to be, the woman who used to really, truly believe in love. I miss you, the person who thought about children and mapped out forever in her mind. I miss you, the person who really thought “till death do us part” was possible – even in “sickness and in health.” These vows were doable, achievable, if both people worked at them and really loved one another. I miss the person that was willing to sacrifice herself for another person, simply because she loved and believed in them.
I miss you, the person who could forgive, the person who could love someone with every single piece of her and push away any and all doubts. I don’t romanticize who you were, you always had doubts. Doubts are part of your fabric, your DNA. But you found the strength to push them away, to trust. I miss you, courageous soul, who was ready to dedicate your life to one man – and really believed you had something special.
I even miss you, the narcissistic woman who looked down on many of your friend’s failed relationships, because you thought you had something special, different, better. I miss the person, to who a friend once said, “You are lucky. Most of us are just playing darts, hoping to hit something, anything. But you got lucky – you hit the bull’s eye the first time.” I long for the woman who actually believed that was possible, to hit the bull’s eye on the first throw. To be lucky enough to have found someone compatible enough, wonderful enough, to spend your life with – even if you met him when you were 18 and didn’t know any better.
I miss you when I doubt every relationship, every moment, every kiss. I miss you when I find myself looking for lies, for holes in every story. And then when I feel vindicated when I find them. Right, again. Why am I always right?
I miss you when I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin, and then I remember how I felt with him. He knew me, through and through. I thought he loved me, no matter what, no matter the insecurities or flaws that were pervasive within me. I miss you when I can’t seem to be myself around someone new, because I’m not sure I know myself anymore.
I miss you when I’m scared that I’m not going to find anyone. I miss the woman who would say to me – of course you will find someone. You are special, and you will find someone who will love you in the way that you deserve. I miss the woman who really believed that a love that was strong enough to overcome almost everything was possible. That woman didn’t have hardly any role models to show her it was true, but she somehow believed she was going to be the exception. That he was going to be the exception – the man who wouldn’t let her down, no matter what.
I don’t miss you all the time, because I can see how at times you were naïve, and I can see clear as day the mistakes you made and the things you sacrificed to be that person. And it’s not lost on me all the things I’ve gained because I’ve lost you, so don’t think that I’m completely sad about where I am now. But I miss you because I can’t feel you anymore, and that lack of optimism is incredibly scary. I miss you because I know you existed, yet I don’t know how to find you again. Even worse, I’m scared I don’t want to find you quite enough to look. Because I’m comfortable now. The cynicism and the skepticism and the pessimism … all the isms feel like me now. That woman may be gone forever.
I miss you in ways more than I miss him. I miss him for things, for experiences, for feelings, for years lost. I miss you because you were once a fundamental part of me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get you back. And that’s frightening, because I’ll never be the same. My relationships will never be the same. And I can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing.
**Readers, please note: This blog post has been sort of living in me for several months, and I don’t want you to think these feelings are specific to anyone I’m dating currently. These feelings are about everyone I’ve dated, no one I’ve dated and ultimately, the guy with which I’m going to spend my life. Whoever he is, wherever he is. This post is about where I am in the healing process.**