Missing Piece of Me

So I wrote this last week on my iPhone, I know, but am now just getting around to posting. Sorry I've been so MIA, promise I'll post something that makes up for it, soon.

I find myself at night laying in bed with my arms out stretched like I'm reaching for something that isn't there anymore. And it feels like there's a part of me missing. And I hate that I feel that way. 'It was only I year' I tell myself. It's been three months, just fucking get over it. And then I think of what it is that I think I'm missing. The feel of his warm skin under my cool one? His deep breathes in the silent night? The feeling that when I wake up I know it'll be to his smiling face?

And so then I think of the time passed with him. The nights we'd lay in bed and I couldn't help but doubt that I wasn't the only one that laid in his arms, about what other girls he was possibly talking to. But then I'd take a deep breath and think, 'this isn't me. I trust him, it's just gotta be the nature of our arrangement.' it was true, part of me was always searching for the one thing that allowed him to be mine...a title, an idea, a concept. I knew what I wanted, I just didn't have it at the time. So I continued with my life, school work and rehearsals, all the while trying to map out my future and trying to figure out where he fit in. So I checked his state for dance companies to see if I could make my dream plausible for us. It wouldn't be any easier then Boston, but there was at least a dance scene. But I had to be rational, it's not like we were dating and although I loved him and only ever wanted that feeling returned, I knew it was crazy to think this way. So I buried those thoughts deep inside like a dark secret, its not like he was suddenly going to love me one day . And then that day came and like the glittering flame of a birthday candle, it was there one second and gone the next. His love. The tiny amount of claim that I held over him.

So I lay in bed, what? Missing...him? Is that why my arms are stretched out? No, I don't think it is. For, though it's taken me almost three months to understand, I don't miss that person that decided on a whim one day to finally utter the words I'd desperately waited a year for them to say. The words that were the response to the words of my tattoo, written in a language he knew how to speak. It was always there in front of him, the thing that I so ardently needed. And for the moment to come and just fizzle out? I use to think it was that, that scared him away and into the arms of another woman. So I'd blame myself, I mean I'd hurt him so bad in the past, why wouldn't it surprise me that the moment he finally admitted his true feelings for me, that he'd run as fast and far away as he could from the one person who could and had hurt him.

So again I ask myself why is it then that I'm not missing him?...to be honest I miss the man he was in the late hours of the night when we'd lay in bed together. There's no mask, no hiding who are, when you're in that moment. So if not him I miss then what? That honest moment? That's what I miss. The ability to have that moment when you're laying in bed, and you can't hide who you are anymore. You muscles relax until your bones sink into your mattress and your mind travels through all the ideas, memories, and feelings that you refused to face during the day. The moment when you can just cry knowing that the other person isnt going anywhere. The moment when you can just stare into a person's soul. The moment when there's no need for words and a simple quiver of your lip or wrinkle of your brow tells the person you're laying next to what exactly is on your mind.


So I lay with my arms outstretched, to remind myself that there was a time when those honest moments truly existed and when my hands finally touch something, those moments will be back.


Someday.