Losing You
I used to think I couldn’t go a day without your sweet smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.
Then, that day arrived, and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and I wasn’t going to be okay for a very long time.
I was outside your apartment, calling you multiple times at 11 a.m. in the morning waiting for you to come home. You picked up my call saying you’re at the closest Walmart around my house to buy groceries for lunch. After 20 minutes wandering around, I saw you driving your car with a female sitting beside you. I saw you holding her hands and kissing her lips. How beautiful would that be if I was her? From that day, I ignored him.
Losing someone isn’t an event. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I pick up my favorite coffee mug that you gave it to me on our 4th anniversary date; whenever that one particular song plays on the radio late night when I’m alone by myself. I lose myself when I discover your old ripped t-shirt laying around in my closet. I lose you every time I think of kissing you with your sweet lips, holding you, or wanting you to cuddle me in bed. I go to bed at night and lose you, when I wish I could tell you about my day. And when I wake up, I would reach the empty sheet across the bed, again, I begin to lose you all over again.