meet me in new york

It’s tragic how much I miss you. I wish people understood it.

I was two margaritas deep when I texted you on my flight.

“I miss you all the time. I hate it.”

“Your song popped up on my playlist.”

“Do you ever miss me?”

“Of course I do, stop it.”

I hate that. I hate that all you have to do is text me back and I feel like I can breathe again. You don’t have to see me, you don’t have to make time for me, we don’t have to get on the phone like we used to. You don’t even have to make hypothetical plans to see me on Christmas. You just have to say you miss me too and suddenly my nervous system is regulated.

I did that. I trained that response in myself.

Everyone seems to think that I’m caught up and missing whatever dude I’ve been talking to, whatever guy I was seeing and suddenly not. Some lesser version of you with a spark of talent that pales in comparison to yours. Some loudmouth, some egomaniac, some vocally expressive asshole who reminds me of you but isn’t you. I’ve only ever dated dupes of you. I fall in love with them, I do. But it’s not the way I fell in love with you. I’ve only ever felt that once.

I miss you with a visceral yearning, snd what feels a lot like a perpetual mourning. And when I do hear from you, it’s like seeing a passed on loved one in a dream. I know you’re not here, I know that seeing you again is never going to happen, but it feels real. And the saddest part is… it’s enough.

I hate to admit that. Especially publicly. No one would ever dare to love me if they knew how loyal my heart was to you. Not by choice, by design. If they knew that I once didn’t speak to you for three years and finally moved on with someone else for three years after that, and still secretly cried myself to sleep because I missed you.

My ex-fiance cheated. That's clean. That makes sense. But what really sparked his departure was reading my journal. When I admitted for the first time in those 3 years that I still cried for you. Of course he cheated and downplayed the cheating. My heart wasn’t there. Despite desperately wanting it to be, it wasn’t. I think that’s why he didn’t give a fuck.

This has been the loneliest shit. To feel the way I feel, to learn to live on nothing, and not be able to tell anyone lest I ruin a shot at salvation. What if someone saw me, and knew me, and examined my heart, and saw your name all over it?

I’ve accepted that I belong to you. It feels like I have no choice in the matter. The fact that you don’t want me, though, is harder to reconcile.

It’s been interesting, I have to admit. To feel the separation, to learn to breathe on my own. I want you, and I need you all the time, I know you know that. And when I am really about to let go and let my heart die another death? A crumb. A sentiment. A text. A gift. A reminder that you still exist, somewhere out there.

I wish I was being dramatic. I’m not. It’s a truth I’ve had to live with. It’s getting easier and easier to accept. No one is you, I know that and I really don’t want anyone but you. So yeah, I pass the time. I smile, I date, I do fall in love, but not enough.

I belong to you, and you don’t want me.

You said you want me to belong to myself.

I get it.

I am getting it.

I just don’t know yet how to feel something other than yours.

Anyway.

I miss you.