I don’t have a clever line.
No beautiful chains of words, no smart metaphors or witty analogies.
I just want to say that I miss you.
I want to say what I wish I had said years ago, when the time would have been appropriate. I want to tell you how I adored the feeling of being with you, from the quiet moments to the loud moments, to the laughter that shook us.
I want to tell you that right now, I’d like to curl up next to you on the couch – each of us with a book, just our feet touching and the occasional knowing glance.
I want to ask you if you remember the way electricity coursed between us when we locked eyes. I want to ask if you remember how with a single look and mouths shut, we could communicate.
I wonder, did you feel all this, too? Or is just something I have built up in my own head because, since you, no one has compared.
Since you, sure, there have been others. A few fun, cheap thrills. A few decadent treats to be forgotten with the rising sun.
You were fun and you were decadent. But you didn’t feel temporary. You felt real. You felt lasting.
But it was fleeting.
The timing was wrong.
The situation wasn’t right.
So we didn’t try. We never told each other, “goodbye”. We never said, “I’ll miss you.”
So much time has passed since then. The window of opportunity is surely shut and sealed. The words I should have said are trapped in my head, knock-knock-knocking on my vocal chords, threatening to come spilling out in a half-drunk text.
But I fear rejection. I fear humiliation. I fear you never felt the same way.
So instead, I say nothing.