stolenkisses.

howmaywehateyoublog:

GUEST: Excuse me, do you know if in New York there is a, how to say, holocaust?
CONCIERGE: I’m sorry?
GUEST: Holocaust.
CONCIERGE: …Holocaust?
GUEST: Holocaust.
CONCIERGE: …The Jewish History Museum is New York City’s Holocaust memorial. It’s in lower Manhattan.
GUEST: There is a holocaust in Manhattan? This is good news! I am told there is no New York City holocaust except Coney Island.
CONCIERGE: (silent moment of deep confusion)
GUEST: How much cost?
CONCIERGE: It’s $12 for adults.
GUEST: Ah. Is expensive?
CONCIERGE: For museums in New York, it’s low.
GUEST: Museum? No. No museum. Is, for fun. With children. (throws hands up) “Weeee!!”
CONCIERGE: What?!
GUEST: Holocaust.
CONCIERGE: Please stop saying “holocaust.”
CONCIERGE: (actually said) I’m sorry??
GUEST: Holocausta. Holocaustar. Holocauster.
CONCIERGE: (smacks face) Roller coaster. Yes. There’s a roller coaster in Coney Island.

There.

I said it.

I am not heartbroken anymore. Really, I’m not. I’m not just a girl saying that to convince everyone staring at her with inquisitive, intrusive eyes. I’m saying it because it’s the truth.

Really. It is.

“I miss you. There, I said it.”

I no longer find you to be a habit.

I do not instinctually think to call you, I don’t have your number memorized anymore (261? Or was it 216?) and when something happens I do not find my right hand reaching for a phone to start typing away to tell you all of the details. You are no longer my emergency contact and honestly, I don’t think I would recognize your voice in a crowd.

But still…

There are days, and there are moments, where all I want to do is look over at you at smirk and roll my eyes. There are days, and there are moments where I know I’m being stupid but you would still laugh at me. There are days, and there are moments, where I feel like you would be the only one to understand me.

I can admit that there are times where I know that even though I may not be able to remember your voice, I still miss your laugh.

And I still really want to hear it.

“I still miss you. There, I said it.”

I’m no longer empty.

I do not feel like I have a gaping hole shaped exactly like your torso in my chest. I do not watch the blood pulsate in my veins and see your lies flowing through me. I do not look for you to finish my sentences or to pick me up at the end of the day. I am not trying to finish anything because I’m complete.

Really.

I am complete on my own. I’m whole.

But even still…

I find my fingers looking for the ink on your shoulders to trace and my hands looking for you to hold at night. I find myself swallowing down your name when I’m on an empty beach and wish I had more company than driftwood. I hold myself back from saying, “He would have loved this” on summer nights.

I may be whole, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room.

“I still miss you. There, I said it.”

I am not waiting for you anymore.

I do not stay up at night, I am not sitting in my bed while staring at the door just picturing you coming through it. I do not watch the clock keep moving and feel disappointed when you don’t. I do not save a pillow for you, there’s no water on the nightstand going untouched, there is no chair in my apartment with a permanent dibs. There’s nothing for you here.

This is a world that I created without you.

This is not yours, and I’m not waiting for you to claim your space.

I’m not hoping, not wishing, not looking, not praying. And I am most definitely not waiting.

Because I’m older now, wiser now. And I know there’s nothing there for me.

I’ve moved on.

There is no but.

I’m simply not heartbroken over you anymore.

…

Except…

“I still miss you. There, I said it.”

There is still a longing. I can pretend to ignore it, that it is simply a result of too many glasses of wine and ballads, but it’s there.

And try as I might, I do not, no, cannot, deny it.

Because I think there always will be.

Because I still miss you.

And I think a part of me always will.