I Miss You

(this was written probably in october 2006 for a writing class. i wrote it because i needed to write it, however melodramatic it turned out.)

I’m driving home, praying that no one else will be there when I get there. I just want to be alone. My car is silent and I feel like crying but I can’t; my mind isn’t empty enough to let myself break down—I have too much else to worry about. All the lights in my living room are on—everyone’s probably sitting in front of the TV, just like every night. I drive past my driveway. The cold dark solitude of my car is what I need right now, not the warm distraction of my house, my room, my homework.

I am upset, and I am upset at myself for being so upset. This is ridiculous. I am overreacting. I am letting my emotions get in the way. This shouldn’t be about more than business but I am making it more. I’m letting you be more to me. I’m letting you get to me, you manipulative bastard. I am letting you in and you’re hurting me.

I used to look forward to you, to the afternoons when you’d be around, and I’d be around, we’d be together. I still look forward. I want to see you even though it’s not good for me. You’re not good for me, with your insincere sweet-talk. I can taste the sugar coating on every word that comes out of your mouth. It’s nauseating.

I turn right at the next stop sign. I no longer know where I am. My neighborhood is like a maze to me. Right now it feels good to be lost. I want to pull over and start walking, but it’s cold and my coat is thin. I’ve also been warned about walking alone here at night—this is the bad part of town, as bad as bad gets in a town like this. I drive, not looking at street signs, not looking anywhere but at the road straight ahead of me. My headlights cut smooth beams of light through the darkness onto the pavement in front of me. The trees on the side of the road flash like ghosts as I pass. No one is out walking, I don’t know if it’s the neighborhood or the weather that is keeping them indoors.

I still can’t cry. I know I’ll feel better if I can let it all out, but I can’t. I hold it inside myself. My white knuckles gripping the steering wheel are my only show of emotion. I don’t have to be tough right now, there’s no one here to see me. I won’t cry. It’s instinct.

I hate myself for thinking it, but the only thing in the world that I want right now is to see you, to hold you, to melt into you. I want to hear you tell me in your sugary sweet voice that everything is alright, that this’ll all pass. When I left, you came up to me. You reached your arms out to me—

“Don’t touch me.” I said.

Of course you won’t call.

It’s my fault. I wanted too much from you. For a while, it seemed like you wanted it from me, too. I guess this isn’t the first time I’ve been wrong. I’ve set myself up for disappointment before.

My finger is on the talk button, ready to call you. I should. I need to smooth this out, we can’t keep this up. It’s not good for you and it certainly isn’t good for me to be this upset. All I need to do is call you and we’ll be better. You’ll be sweet, I’ll ignore the fakeness of your voice, I’ll feel better, reassured. I’ll miss you tonight.

I shouldn’t call. I need to keep my distance for a while, let this all cool down. Maybe it would be best if I just gave up, used all my energy to forget you. If I call, things will be fine for today, maybe I’ll sleep better tonight, but what about tomorrow? Tomorrow you’ll hurt me again. I hate this cycle. I use my steering wheel to flip my phone shut. I pocket it and start looking for familiar street names.

It wasn’t always like this. I used to drive home happy, practically giddy with excitement. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world to have found someone like you. The late nights, just the two of us—the innocent jokes. Somewhere along the line, things changed. It got too hot; it got scary. It stopped being real, we started faking it, then we gave up altogether. I distanced myself. When we worked together, we worked in silence. I began to recoil when you touched me, turn away, make excuses to keep my distance.

No one even noticed as we began to fall apart. On the surface everything remained as it was. We talked business. I still drove you home, but the car rides changed. I drove fast, uncomfortable with only the small gap between us. The radio was the only thing breaking the almost painful silence.

I’m not mad anymore. My drive and the few minutes of allowing myself to become completely lost have cleared my head. I’m not perfect, but I’m coming to terms with this. It’ll never be how it was or could have been, but that’s alright. Tomorrow it’ll be different. Tomorrow when I see you I’ll smile, but I won’t hold you tightly when we hug. I won’t press my entire body against yours, I won’t relax into you. We won’t joke, not even a little. While I’m working, you will stand above me and plant a kiss on my head and I won’t look up, won’t even smile.

I miss you.