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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