Missing you was an intricate part of my lifestyle.
I spent my life missing you.
Even when we were together, I missed you.
And when you broke my heart, even though I wasn't surprised, I missed you sill.
And now, I'm not quiet sure what to do with this not missing you business.
I've finally moved on.
Finally quit that twisted addiction.
Finally.
And once in a while, I see your name or hear something you did, and I feel compelled to miss you even though I don't.
Now the vast, gaping hole in my heart where your memory used to live is smaller.
Not yet a pin prick but not still a hole.
And missing you seems like a memory too.
A space for me to empty my brain of all the poems, letters, and half-finished stories that swirl around in my head all day.
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Things in my life keep breaking me. A little at a time, the cracks deepen. I'm holding onto a shattered heart. People keep pulling on...
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Nights like this break my heart. As the rain pours and thunder claps, my heart shatters in my chest. I see our memories and I miss them. ...
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The night grows long, the heart grows weary with its endless fervent beating. The chest it aches, the eyes they itch with unshed tears long...
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