It's the small things. Sometimes even the most miniscule of things!
It's those 4am "I'm bored so I miss you more than usual" texts. Those random late night requests regarding how thirsty you are and they would pour exactly what you like. The moments when your legs would touch and you'd realize "Hey! We need to shave!" but it would be dismissed anyway. Some people look at the bigger pictures. They take everything in by size. And I guess in some cases, that matters. But if you're anything like me(well, the recent me) you look at the smaller pictures. The little pictures colored in crayon that look like a 5 year old did it. The kind of moments you wish you could put a pair of glasses on your brain so you can see and remember them better.
I miss those pictures. They hang as though they're in the worlds most prestigious gallery. Too bad it's only in your head. You walk throughout that museum in your mind and with each glimpse, you feel as though a shard of glass is entering into your chest cavity. You remember the times she gave you crap about your breath smelling bad in the morning. Which really just goes for about everyone. Except when she said it, it made you smile. When she said it, there was a way her lips and tongue moved in sync and it would somehow tickle your heart; causing you to laugh.
Or the day when you tried to make her a good dinner to come home to but you over-boiled the noodles, you put too much Italian seasoning in the sauce, not enough garlic, and too much salt into just about everything. But she ate it anyway. She ate it and she smiled and she even teared up a little. Not from the crappy recipe, but from the thought. And how about those days where she would tickle you, even though you hated it, just so she could hear your laugh. The same laugh she loved so dearly. The same laugh that would cause her face to light up as though it were Christmas.
You don't know what you have until it's gone. Until you wind up sitting on your couch with a beer in your hand and a drama on the television. And for some reason, or maybe for no reason at all, your mind just comes sweeping in with a tsunami of nostalgia.
That's when it becomes real. And it sucks. So stop being a self-absorbed ass, let go of your pride, say you're sorry and make a fucking cake if need be. Whatever the problem may be, let it all go...and just let it be. At least then if you lose it, you won't miss it. And most of all, you'll know you took nothing for granted.
If it happens to be too late to say anything at all, let it go. What you need to say doesn’t matter and will only make you look like a jackass. Or a psycho ex. If you feel some unbearable need to tell them how they made you feel, how they broke you and what you think about all of it, write an e-mail. Or a text. Or a letter. You could try making a phone call but 9 times out of 10, you’ll be directed to the voicemail. And you don’t want to be one of those people leaving a 12 minute and 32 second declaration of “I hate your guts. You’re a prick. Why do I still love you? Take me back! You suck!” on someone’s phone for them to listen to first thing in the morning. One thing you have to prepare yourself for is the worst. The one thing everyone hates. The one thing that tears and rips at our core and makes us want to throw eggs at their house and put bologna on the hood of their car.
No response. Not one word.
You’ll wait for a response, too. You’ll sit by your phone with a tub of ice cream in your hand as you cry to a new death on grey’s anatomy. Sadly, sometimes it never comes. Three days go by and you’re still hoping for them to respond with a “I love you. I’m sorry. I suck. You’re my Juliet. I’ll meet you under your window and recite Shakespeare until 4 o clock in the morning” sentiment.
But it won’t happen. Because this isn’t a book. It’s not a movie. Leonardo DiCaprio won’t kill himself for you and Ryan Gosseling won’t read the memories you’ve made together to you in a nursing home.
This is reality. And it sucks. But life goes on. And everything becomes okay again. It just takes time. And beer. Lots of beer.
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