So I Write

I wish I could say this while looking into your eyes, yet I’m not sure I’d make it past the first sentence without wanting to kiss you. So I write.

I miss you.

I miss you in a way I’ve never missed anyone before. The space you left aches in my body, and the distance between us makes me feel like I’m breaking. And because I can’t reach you, I write.

I write to tell you that I forgive you. I understand now the corner you were pushed into; none of it was simple. I forgive myself too for stumbling through it all. And that last word you threw at me barely scratched the surface; I was already bleeding long before it landed.

So I write.

I write because I twisted my own feelings out of fear. I was terrified of falling in love again. We were both wrong with the truth, and I wish we’d had the time to make it right without the guilt we carried on our backs.

So I write.

I write because I’m tired of rereading our messages and tired of trying to sleep without replaying every kiss I ever gave you. Tired of tasting whiskies hoping to find the one that would make your eyes light up. Tired of running from myself just to avoid running into you; and yet even when I run, I circle back to you. So I write.

I write because I once believed the feeling would fade. And to answer your question, no. It isn’t fading for me. So I write.

Because we still have a book to finish, and my version is always better when you’re in it. I write because I remember the first line I ever wrote about you and how I imagined you reading beside me while I played my games. You’re still there. Still next to me, somehow, every time the TV hums to life. It’s madness.

So I write.

Because I miss your calls after work, after dinner, after everything.

to be continued...