Sometimes, I miss the people that I’ve pushed away. The ones I let go out of fear; or the desire to move on to whatever came next. Sometimes, I miss not having anyone to talk to; to really talk to. The kind of conversation that has no boundaries, no expectations; the kind where silence is never awkward, but accepted.
Sometimes, I miss having that. Because at night, when the thoughts begin to flood, I would give anything to be able to call someone up and face no rejection or judgement for the things I have to say.
I miss that effortlessness, that ease. I missed the relationships that weren’t fuzzed by deeper or unwanted feelings. The friendship was just that, and it was love … just a different kind. It was just all fluid approval.
Sometimes, like last night, I miss having that person I could trust with my feelings. But I pushed them all, one by one, out of my life. I acquaint myself now only with those who have singular intentions; we will give and recieve what we want, and then move on. Is it all I feel that I deserve? All I can get? Fear of giving more of myself? The classic story that no one wants to hear anymore. I have my company for awhile …
But on the 23rd night, I lie in bed alone. And the thoughts corrode and corrupt, with no outlet.
Sometimes, I just miss having someone to talk to.