Monday, February 17, 2014



The hardest thing about losing you is that it didn’t just happen once.  I lose you every single day that we don’t speak, when I wake up in the morning and reach for my phone and hope to see a message that isn’t there, and when I go to sleep at night after I realize that the only person I want to moan about how crap my day was isn’t there. And I lose you in all of the moments in between, in all the hours of silence that go by where I do nothing but think of you, go to call you and then don’t.  I lose you when I watch certain films, listen to certain songs, and go to certain places that are all tainted with certain parts of you and how you make me feel.  And I used to think I could only miss you when I was alone, but that’s not true.  I miss you when I’m around everyone else, too.  Because they are not you.  But you’re always there…somewhere.  I can’t not think about you.  It’s only when I’m asleep that I get a break from it.  From thinking and wanting and missing.  But then I wake up the following day, roll over, check my phone, see that you didn’t call and I just know I’m going to feel it all over again.

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