My thoughts feel unusually regulated at the moment. There’s the simplicity of deciding what time I’ll exercise, the small joy in choosing the music that will accompany me as I work, the heightened interest in what I’ll cook for dinner and the inevitable pining for the presence of the people that I love.
It’s become a pastime, missing you.
There’s something romantic about your absence. It’s both painful and alluring. I remember your gold, without the grinding of trivial tensions. I think of you without distraction, who you really are and who we become when we’re together. It’s all the sweetness of a memorial service without the grief of permanent goodbyes. It’s the contradictorily comforting sting of nostalgia without the question of whether we’ll meet again.
We will meet again.
My mind is housing a tribute to you, pinning up your most profound thoughts, your purest qualities, our deepest conversations and the unexplainable moments that – without rhyme or reason – have connected us the most. They sit proudly in my subconscious, stacked up in a library of sentiment and glee and utter thankfulness. When I’m lonely, or despairing, or hopeless, I’ll check-out a chapter in an attempt to relive vivid intimacy and remembered togetherness.
A mist of much ado about nothing has often covered and confused our interactions but now, I see you with absolute clarity and with the ability to believe the best. I step back and imaginatively take you in like a mural, each backwards move blurring the insignificant details of your downfalls to reveal the nectar that seduced me into falling in love with you to begin with.
It’s unlikely that in this current time, you would profess to being your ‘greatest self’ and yet, maybe that’s exactly what you are. Your frills have been removed, you can no longer introduce yourself with achievements, your personality has divorced your social status, you’re welded to your loungewear and you have less to say than ever before.
You are exposed, you are naked and you are beautiful.
The act of missing has illuminated you as much as it has convicted me. I lay unsettled, regretting the moments that I allowed feelings of frustration and entitlement to cloud what really matters. I wonder if you feel the same and whether it’s possible that in a global crisis, a societal chain of deep relational appreciation could be sparking.
Will you allow the current to change you?
You are my friend. You’re my brother. You’re my parent. You’re my goddaughter. You’re my colleague. You’re my nephew. You’re my day-one. You’re my new meet. You’re my housemate. You’re my outmate. You’re my local. You’re my ‘I will travel’ to.
We are the loves of each other’s lives. I will miss missing you.