What I Mean Is

When I say I miss you, what I mean is that everything reminds me of you.
Wood. Tea. Cars. Water. Dogs. Books. Spoons. Cushions. Socks. Rain. Toast. Wind chimes. Children. Everything has a connection to you. The way you might feel about something, how you might look at something, what you might say to someone... You are everywhere. As if my mind was not consumed enough by you, your essence is everywhere outside of me too. When I say I miss you, what I mean is, I stare.
I catch myself after a minute or two and am never quite sure what I was thinking about. But I know it was you. Maybe it wasn’t even a thought. Just a feeling.
I look forward to your eyes seeing mine. Clear, easy love with none of the torturous thoughts that once barraged my mind. I look forward to me not caring about the negative, harmful things I have cared so much about. And I look forward to being able to love you, just as you are, with all of me. No hiding, no denying, no judgement, no fear. I look forward to us.
When I say “I love you,” I mean I trust you. I respect you. I admire you. I adore you. When I say “I love you,” I mean my life is better with you in it. I’m a better woman because of you. And the more I come to know you, the more I want to know. I miss you when you’re not around. I’m grateful for every moment we’re together.
When I say “I love you,” I mean I want to be the one you turn to when you’re hurting. I want to be the one who listens. I want to hold you in my arms. I want to take care of you. I want to give you something to stand on in this crazy, constantly changing world.
I want to wake up next to you in the morning. I want you beside me when I close my eyes at night. In a universe of infinite possibilities, on a planet of seven billion human beings, I want only you.
I love you. And not a day goes by that I don’t tell you.
But the silent poetry that throbs in my chest cannot be uttered in three little words—or 3,000 for that matter. Whenever I try to describe the way I feel for you, every word seems trite and hollow; the whole English language insufficient. Because how do I explain a feeling that encompasses every piece of me?




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