What I Secretly Mean When I Say, ‘I Miss You’

I want to tell you I miss you, but I feel like those words don’t cover half of what I’m feeling.

I miss our banter. I miss our stupid jokes. I miss the moments when I said something flirtatious enough to make you look at me in that way, like you wanted me too, like you felt the same way, like you were considering the possibilities of us.

I miss getting ready to see you. I miss taking my time choosing an outfit and styling my hair because I wanted you to view me better than I viewed myself, because I wanted you to see me as someone you could picture your future alongside. I miss caring that much about someone, about having someone around I was willing to put the effort in for instead of feeling numb all the time.

I miss hugging you. I miss the scent of your cologne sending my senses into overdrive. I miss the feel of your arms wrapped around mine for just a little longer than two friends would hug. I miss knowing you were right there, so close, close enough for me to kiss if I found the courage to make the first move and admit how much you meant to me.

I miss your voice. I miss the way it would rise and fall when you made jokes. I miss the way it would soften like butter whenever you had something serious to say, something meaningful, something you wanted me to really listen to and consider. Most of all, I miss your laugh. I miss being the one who made you laugh. I miss feeling like, even if the rest of my day had gone terribly, at least I did something right if I could make you smile for half a second.

I miss the way you made me feel, like I was good looking, like I was worth something, like I was actually deserving of someone else’s time and attention. I miss the adrenaline that pulsed through my veins whenever your name popped onto my phone screen. I miss the butterflies that would gnaw on my heartstrings whenever you walked into the room. I miss the excitement of seeing you. I miss the expectations. I miss the what ifs. 

I miss superficial things, too. I miss looking into the depth of your eyes. I miss the way your brows would raise when you found something stupid. I miss the way your lips would curve into a smirk when you said something sarcastic. I miss the clothes you would wear and the body beneath them.

I miss everything about you, even the parts that used to drive me crazy. I miss the mixed signals. I miss the sexual tension. I miss the thoughts running through my head about whether you felt the same way about me or whether I was only a way to pass the time.

I miss you. I miss everything about you. And I don’t know if that’s ever going to stop.