It’s strange, isn’t it?
How someone can exist so vividly in your life one day, and then, just like that, they’re gone. Not in the final sense always. They might still be walking around somewhere, laughing, living, breathing. But to you—they’re a memory, just a fragment of our imagination.
And still, you miss them.
But what does missing someone even mean?
Is it the longing for their presence?
Or for who you were when you were around them?
Sometimes I think we don’t miss people—we miss versions of ourselves that only existed with them. A familiarity that can’t quite be replicated with anyone else. You create a world in comfort and shared laughters that is worth more than anything.
And when they leave, that world disappears.
That version of you disappears.
So we grieve. We grieve that loss. Because our onc full life is now howlowed out in their absence.
What hurts are moments when a song reminds you of them, or when something good happens and you instinctively want to tell them—and then remember you can’t.
Missing is a form of rememberence of what was but can never be simply because fate does not deem it possible.
There’s a strange kind of beauty in it too. It means you felt something. That they mattered. That you mattered to someone.
We miss people because we are human.
Because we have hearts that hold on longer than we admit.
In french to miss someone is "tu me manques" which translates to "you are missing from me" and I think that encpsulates the emotion of longing perfectly