i miss you like i knew you

i know almost nothing about you. somehow, i miss you anyway

funny how the things i forget are never you

alooo, how have you been?

i miss you so much that sometimes my chest hurts.

it’s strange — to feel empty and full at the same time.

empty because you’re gone, full because something heavy has settled inside me, like a pocket full of stones where my heart is supposed to be.

some days it feels so heavy i forget how to breathe.

i didn’t know what to do with all this missing, so i did something ridiculous: i typed into google, what should i do if i miss someone until my chest hurts?

and somewhere between advice columns and strangers trying to survive their own grief, i found an article that said:

write them a letter.

but there’s no address for where you’ve gone.

and we’re not in harry potter. i can’t tie this to an owl and hope it finds you.

so i’m writing it here instead,

hoping that if i pour enough of this ache onto a page, there’ll be a little less left inside me.

i miss you.

i miss your little updates.

do you still wake up at 3 a.m.?

does bontot still drive you crazy?

do you still get annoyed at everyone on the road? do you still mutter under your breath when people can’t drive?

did you eat dinner tonight?

how’s your father? is he healthy?

how about you? are you taking care of yourself?

did that kid finally stop giving you the flu?

did you pass your japanese exam?

did all that studying pay off?

i hope you did.

i wish i knew.

did you enjoy that concert?

who did you go with?

did they play your favorite song?

and that’s the funny part, isn’t it?

i don’t even know what your favorite song is.

i don’t know your favorite color, your comfort food, your favorite flavor.

maybe chocolate.

but that feels too obvious, and somehow i don’t think you’d choose obvious.

coffee or tea?

i don’t know.

there are so many things about you that i never got the chance to learn.

and yet,

i miss you like i’ve known you my whole life.

the only thing i’m certain of is that you can draw.

you told me you couldn’t.

maybe you were being modest, maybe you were lying, maybe you just didn’t want me to know.

but i know now.

and it feels unfair somehow —

that i keep learning things about you only after you’re gone.

and somehow that’s not enough, but it’s all i have.

i miss your good mornings.

i miss your good nights.

i miss your “i’m home” texts. i miss knowing you made it back safely.

i miss the way you’d say you wanted to talk first before doing anything else.

i miss conversations that wandered past midnight and accidentally found their way to morning.

i miss the nickname i chose for you.

i miss the one you chose for me.

and god,

i miss you.

isn’t it ironic?

i forget everything.

i walk into rooms and forget why. i lose my train of thought halfway through sentences. my memory is practically a goldfish bowl.

but for some reason,

i can’t forget you.

no matter how hard i try,

you stay.

like a book missing half its pages,

and somehow it’s still my favorite one.