And suddenly it’s okay for me to miss him. I allow myself to miss him. For the first time in months. I don’t miss him too much. Just a little bit. A hint. A drop. A taste. I’m trying ‘missing him’ on for size, to see if it suits me. I’ve spent so much time warring against my own emotions; I’m not really sure if I can be trusted to miss him. Or if I will fuck this all up all over again and ruin the even keel pace of my emotional life thus far. Can I miss him without destroying myself? Without ripping myself to pieces? Can I sit here calmly and steep in nostalgia for 5-10 minutes before returning to my regularly scheduled emotional programming? Or will I fucking explode. Only time will tell. If you see me tomorrow, and I am on fire, just know that it is missing him that has ruined me once again, but that’s okay, it’s no cause for alarm. Just let me burn into a heap of ashes. I will be whisked away by the wind and turned into sand, and then everything will be okay for me once again.
Published by ablogaboutthedevil