Healing

Here’s the thing.
I am not over you.
I am not done missing everything about you.
I miss the way your smile sends ripples through your cheeks like a cascade of happiness displayed in your dimples; as if my presence was like a pebble that could create waves across your face.
I miss the way we talked, about everything and nothing at the same time, as if the world would be ours forever.
In the early morning hours, I press my face into the pillow and imagine my brow rests along the curve of your scapula.  I miss the smell of you.

I miss the ferocity with which you would press your lips against mine. How your skin felt when its heat was overwhelming me and your fingers were making indentations in my flesh.

I miss seeing the curve of your smile rise above the mass of pillow that half obscures it.

I miss the way your eyes would crinkle at the corners when you were about to laugh.

I miss the sound of your voice floating in from the doorway to announce your arrival home. I miss the skip of my heart every time I saw your face.

I miss the sounds you made while sleeping. The muffled voices of your subconscious making their way to me in the darkness.
I miss the way your hair felt hanging down around your face when you kissed me.

The process of untangling myself from you has left me with frayed edges and some knots that I cant seem to undo, but I’m slowly stitching myself back together.

Healing hurts though. Everyone knows the painful itch of a burn on the mend, or the agonizing stretches your therapist puts you through after weeks in a cast.  Everyone knows that it takes effort to heal.  Pain breeds pain in its attempt to correct itself.

In my moments of heart ache, where I miss absolutely everything, I remember that time is the only thing that is going to fix this. Someday im going to stop missing you, and that in itself is a scary thought.

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