Missing - by Rebecca
There's the dull, constant ache, like the pain of an old injury that never quite goes away. It beats in sync with the rythmn of my heart - steady, sure, ever-present.
Then there's the quiet missing, the type that makes you open your eyes wide and stay perfectly still so the welling tears dont spill over. When the words on the page in front of you blur despite the valient attempts at control. The kind that makes you instinctively reach out at night, to the empty space beside.
How about surprise missing? The kind that pops up unexpectedly in mid-sentence or mid-thought. Perhaps triggered by some random sight, sound or smell; fragmented memories drifting across and bringing both joy and pain. A melding of two extremes - painful joy; joyful pain. Oxymorons. Like my love for you.
The ghostly missing - of past memories, past loves. Back when the world was still rosy-hued and you thought the word 'love' meant something pure and unadulterated.
The worst kind of missing is, of course, the kind that is like a fist closed round your heart. It leaves you doubled over, breathless, almost eviscerated, in the wake of its intensity. You wonder how come love can hurt so bad even as you embrace the pain. For if I dont savour it in its entirety, how do I know what I feel is real?
______
I guess good friends can express each other's emotions well. :)
Then there's the quiet missing, the type that makes you open your eyes wide and stay perfectly still so the welling tears dont spill over. When the words on the page in front of you blur despite the valient attempts at control. The kind that makes you instinctively reach out at night, to the empty space beside.
How about surprise missing? The kind that pops up unexpectedly in mid-sentence or mid-thought. Perhaps triggered by some random sight, sound or smell; fragmented memories drifting across and bringing both joy and pain. A melding of two extremes - painful joy; joyful pain. Oxymorons. Like my love for you.
The ghostly missing - of past memories, past loves. Back when the world was still rosy-hued and you thought the word 'love' meant something pure and unadulterated.
The worst kind of missing is, of course, the kind that is like a fist closed round your heart. It leaves you doubled over, breathless, almost eviscerated, in the wake of its intensity. You wonder how come love can hurt so bad even as you embrace the pain. For if I dont savour it in its entirety, how do I know what I feel is real?
______
I guess good friends can express each other's emotions well. :)
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