The sad truth is we’re all missing someone. And we’re hoping that, wherever they are, they’re missing us right back. —Randomgirl202
There are a lot of things I miss right now. But what I miss most is my friends. Seeing them in person. Hugging them. Loving them, face to face, where some kind of screen isn’t involved. I miss them more than they know, and the thing is, they do think they know how much I miss them, but they’re not even close.
One of the leading health experts in America said he seriously doubts we’ll ever be able to hug again, that handshaking will become an antiquated way of greeting others. I hope to God he’s wrong. My love language is touch. One of my favorite things is a heartfelt hug, to feel the human warmth of someone you adore.
I once read an interview with the actress Denise Richards where she said the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her was say, “I miss you.” I remember scoffing at the time, judgmentally, thinking her answer inane. I didn’t get it because I wasn’t in the right head or heart space to receive what she’d said.
But now I realize, when you have the things you love at your disposal, close at hand, it’s easy to take them for granted. It’s usually only when you lose something precious to you, or when that thing is unavailable, that you can completely comprehend the potency of such a simple phrase like, “I miss you.” In fact, I miss you could well be one of the greatest sentiments there is, second only to I love you, though in a way, the two sentiments are akin to twins.
Nothing makes a room feel emptier than wanting someone in it. —Calla Quinn
When you miss someone, your heart turns into something like a sunflower, bending toward the light it cannot directly touch. It’s a futile yearning. You wonder if the other person is feeling similar to yourself. You wonder when you’ll see them again. You wonder if they’re sleeping well. If they’re healthy. If they’ve laughed today or seen a butterfly.
Missing can be a form of sadness, or it can be a bridge to sadness. I have been at some of my bleakest points while missing someone. Missing, is in many respects, a type of self-inflicted torture, though it’s also involuntary torture. You can’t help, or thwart, the missing. You hurt reflexively, without wanting to, without even trying to.
Missing can also be a symptom of dependency, relying on others to spur our happiness. But people are gregarious by nature. We need each other to feel whole and vibrant.
I have late night conversations with the moon. She tells me about the sun and I tell her about you. —S. L. Gray
I think because time is nearly as cheap as gasoline right now, and also because I miss certain things so deeply in these current days, that I’m missing things I wouldn’t ordinarily.
Sometimes I’ll miss a friend from a broken relationship that I ended. It seems perverse to miss someone you’ve decided to negate from your life, but it happens, or it does to me. And then I’ll wonder: Was that a smart decision? Was it really fair? Could I have been more patient? More understanding?
There are even times when I miss my parents, despite their having created many horrific moments in my, and my siblings’ childhood.
I miss I miss I miss.
I miss the sound and sights of crowded restaurants and bars, sports stadiums.
I miss what I always thought was normal and rather mundane.
I miss ordinary.
I miss the shrill shout of my 2-year old nephew, who lives in Canada, screaming, “Come on, Uncle Len!”
I miss sitting in the window seat with my wife at our favorite eatery, watching all the people on the sidewalks.
I miss.
Everything feels a little frailer now. Things are blurry. Time is disheveled. I got a text from one of my best friends wishing me a happy birthday two days early and I literally thought, Wow, it’s my birthday on Friday and I didn’t even know it. Turns out my friend had it wrong. He was off by a month and ten days, but for a while there, he had me fooled right along with him. I miss that friend a shit ton.
I live in a little town, 30 miles north of Seattle, and I love it. 1st Street is a popular tourist destination here for antique-hunters and wine-tasting. Typically, it’s a slow crawl for cars, and parking spots are almost impossible to find. Now 1st Street is like a scene from one of the “Left Behind” movies, vacant and barren. I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I miss traffic. I miss the stop and go of driving down a robust road. I miss the signs of life brimming over, like champagne foam.
I miss you like an idiot misses the point.
When you miss things so extremely, you don’t always act rationally. I don’t anyway. I’ve had people rightly question my psyche of late. In a fairly short time that feels like a very long time, I’ve made a ton of blunders. I’ve unintentionally hurt people and I miss being able to look those people in the eye and say, “I’m really sorry for being such a dumb ass. I honestly didn’t mean that.”
When I’m really missing someone, I do the opposite of what you should do—I play music that reminds me of them, which in turn only makes me miss them more, only makes me more lonesome.
When I’m really missing someone, all I see are their best attributes, the shining moments, their triumphs, and because that’s what I see, I miss them even more.
I miss I miss.
But really, the thing about missing, about missing someone, is that it’s painful only because the person you miss is a special person you care deeply about. The anguish is actually your heart confirming your love/yearning for someone besides yourself.
In a way, missing is a form of emotionally esteeming or honoring someone without them even knowing it.
Missing is you saying I am damn lucky to be missing this.
