When someone leaves you, it doesn’t hit you the way you would expect.
For instance, it doesn’t hit you when you find yourself sleeping alone for the first time in days. It hits you when you realize that you’ve started to feel familiar with the way you close your eyes to pretend that the room isn’t dark and hold on to your blanket as if you need to know someone is there.
It doesn’t hit you when you realize that you have to clean your room on your own now that they’re gone. It hits you when you realize that you’ve been doing it for so long now that it feels like the new normal.
It doesn’t hit you when you see that the room is devoid of their smiling face. It hits you when you realize that something just feels off in a way you can’t put your finger on.
It doesn’t hit you when you wonder if you’re ever going to have late-night talks with them again. It hits you when you realize that the miserable quiet of the night seems almost sweet in a painful way.
It doesn’t hit you when you talk to them after days and realize how ordinary it feels. It hits you when you realize that you don’t want to talk to them at all because it’s so much easier not to think about them.
Missing someone doesn’t come all of sudden. It comes slowly. Like the bittersweet transition of summer into autumn. It comes to you just when you think you had learned how to live without that person.
Until you realize that you can’t.
I think this is fiction, yeah 😗. Hope you enjoyed it!