Have you ever noticed that in the absence of someone, you only remember the good things about them? It’s never about the times they forgot to call or the fights over petty things like what to do on a boring Saturday night. Instead of remembering the feeling of being let down or unsatisfied, all you can dwell on are the moments in which you looked into his hazel eyes and saw the swell of love gazing back at you. You think about the time he threw you a surprise party, decked out his house in pink and white and made sure to chop up lots of fresh fruit, you favorite. You can feel the soft touch of his sweater on a cold day. You can sense the comfort of being enveloped in strong arms when you were feeling like the world was ending. You remember the look of worry and helplessness as you clearly wasted away, and feel the sting of self-hatred for making him cry.
When you think about missing, you think about the love. You go over the entirety of the relationship in your head, searching for the moments where you could have done better by the boy then man who you loved. Who loved you at your shiny, happy best and your deep, dark depths. When you think about missing, it doesn’t matter if he has moved on. When you think about missing, all that matters is that you long to feel his lips on yours. You think about missing, and your world spirals into a spider web of confusion, emotions catapulting this way and that, jostling at your heart strings. You think about missing, and you feel unquestionably alone. When you think about missing, you even miss figments of your imagination, aspects of your relationship that never really existed. When you think about missing, you realize the truth in the statement that absence makes the heart grow fonder. You begin to wonder, to question. You think about the unanswered questions:
Will you ever be able to love and be loved by anyone the way you loved him and he loved you?
Does the human heart have the capacity to be so wholly invested in one person, and later find the same emotion for a different individual?
Does he ever wonder the same things as you?
Or, does he forget you like yesterday’s newspaper; passing fancies of black and white, thrown into a heap and crumpled on the ground?
Are you discarded? Or just…