Missing you is like slivers of ice in the summer- cold, uninvited, unwelcome, and yet reminiscent of a beautiful season that you cannot taste. Missing you is like a kiss, wonderful and chaotic, wreaking pain with the excruciating temporary nature of it all. I’m not allowed to miss you. But if we’re going to get technical, I wasn’t really ever allowed to love you. That didn’t stop me. Missing you is like wanting to create art but being unable to find a canvas- would it be ludicrous of me to say I’m drowning when you’re the one who keeps coming up for air. Missing you suffocates me, and I hate it, but to let you go is impossible when your face confronts me everyday. I don’t want to be friends, but I would hate to be a stranger. I had you and lost you, but such is the nature of missing you. Such is the nature of lost love. Violent, unapologetic, and it makes you a masochist. Some context- I wrote this after a breakup, and I think I need words to grasp on to to capture the intense
Source: Missing You.