I miss you in this photograph.

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This may not be the the best thing I've ever written, but it did come from an honest place, and maybe, just maybe, someone can relate.


Sometimes, just very rarely, I have moments in which I miss you, in which doubts run through my mind like so many children running through a park, trampling all the flowers underfoot. I second guess myself in those moments. They are rare, but they make my heart ache and my stomach lurch, and they are devastating. I rarely miss you or your touch or your hands or the way you always smelled like laundry, but in that photograph, I miss you. I miss all those things, but then I remember that I can’t have them, that I gave them away. I remember that they could belong to anyone now. But also, I remember that there were things about you that I did not like, like the way your armpits smelled kind of funny sometimes and the way you looked down when you walked, and the sadness in your eyes that never quit... Those things I do not miss, and they make me feel better that I do not have you now.

Do you really want to know the truth? Mostly, I never liked the way that you loved me. It was too much, too demanding, too obvious, too all-encompassing. We all like to be shown affection, but when it becomes too much, it doesn’t excite, it doesn’t spawn feelings, and it’s not fun anymore. It’s not novel. It dulls the senses. But that love is nowhere to be seen in this photograph; in this photograph there is just you, running your hand through your hair as if you don’t care at all, and I like the thought that maybe you were capable of not caring, and it makes me miss you, more than I should, and more than I’d like to admit. I do not at all care for the reminder of what we were, and what I had. But I know that you miss me more, a thousand times more, a million times more, and that you probably think of my kisses or the smell of my hair or the green in my eyes before you go to sleep at night, and the thought of that makes me sicker still, that you are there, hours away, thinking of me, and I am here, living my new life, and hardly ever thinking of you.

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Comments 6 comments

pedrn44 profile image

pedrn44 5 years ago from New Berlin Wisconsin

I appreciate the honest, raw emotion that has gone into writing this hub. Funny how we analyze love even after it's gone. Trying to come to terms with what went wrong, what was right...what doesn't really matter anymore. Being in a good place but revisiting a failed relationship, looking for answers to questions we would never care to ask outloud. Well written. Thanks for sharing.


Bella Nina profile image

Bella Nina 5 years ago from USA

OK. Wow. That was amazing. You are a gifted writer. You peeked inside of my brain and my heart and found what lives there. Thank you for having the courage to look into your own heart, and write this piece, and for sharing it with us. Beautiful.


ms_independent profile image

ms_independent 5 years ago from Canada Author

@pedrn44 I'm not really the type to wax over past relationships too much, because I always remember the reason I left them in the first place, but sometimes, we all get moments of doubt in which we second-guess ourselves, and it's an odd thing to deal with. Thank you, and thanks for reading :)

@Bella Nina I'm really glad that someone else could identify with this, it's what I had hoped for in publishing this hub. It's so comforting to know that someone else can relate. Thank you so much for your lovely comment :)


Bella Nina profile image

Bella Nina 5 years ago from USA

You are so welcomed . . . and I definitely relate. I hope you write more hubs like this one. It's rather cathartic, don't you think?


ms_independent profile image

ms_independent 5 years ago from Canada Author

It is quite cathartic, yes. I probably have more material like this, somewhere on my computer. I'll certainly write more of this sort of thing, if people can relate to it. I wasn't sure what the reception of this would be haha.


Bella Nina profile image

Bella Nina 5 years ago from USA

It is well-received. So, write away.

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