I’d forgotten what it was like to miss someone, because I’d trained myself during the course of my first love (which was both very long, and very long-distance) to become numb to that emotion. I either couldn’t handle that enduring and painful yearning, and blocked out my ability to feel it, or I just became so used to it that it no longer mattered in any context. To miss someone or something became so normal for me that I completely forgot about it, even when that relationship ended. It’s been years since I’ve deeply missed anything.
It wasn’t until recently, with all this pondering of life and death and living and leaving, that I can understand again what it would be like to really miss someone.
I can already see myself missing my father, whichever of us is the one to go first. And not just at the age he is now, but at every age we ever were together. I’ll miss all of those him’s, and all of those him and I’s together. I can feel now what that will be like.
And it gives me happiness to know that this sensation, that missing, is built entirely on love. It’s a longing born from beauty, and where it exists that beauty and the love upon which it was built still exists, and always will exist. Not flickering, but strong, and forever.
And now I realize why I haven’t been missing anything this whole time. Because I’ve been paying attention to it. And it’s still there. And it always will be.