It's four twenty-two in the morning, and I just wrote an email to my ex-lover, ex-friend, ex-confidante. It's amazing how much I still miss her. It scares me to the point that I'm crying right now. There's a certain silence that comes from missing, and I imagine this silence must be the silence that envelopes a person in the moments just before death when the noise of the world isn't as important as the texture of it.
I'm ashamed for missing her. I feel that I should be stronger. I feel that I should have moved on already. I feel that if I stopped lingering on her, I'd be able to smile at the other people in my life more sincerely, but there truly is a gorge in my life where she once existed, and there are days when this gorge fills with an unspeakable amount of tears, like tonight, when I find myself close to sobbing in my want of her.
And all I want is a hug.
A melt-into-each-other hug. Her arms around the width of me. Our foreheads touching until I would move my head to her shoulder where I would breathe the smell of her body, clothes, shampoo into me. There are not many people whom I hug like her. I could lean into her and rest from everything. Her hugs were like cathedrals, and even in our most horrible moments, I could shut out the world by hiding my face in the curve of her neck. I wonder if I'd be able to shut out the silence of missing.