“I’m always tired, but never of you” – Gnash

She smelled of sweet syrups and fresh roses, of expensive perfume and cheap thrills, of long drives and messy hair.

I miss her. I miss the songs that we sang at the top of our voices, the pictures that we clicked with our dog between us, and just sleeping all day long. I miss looking into her sleepy eyes with hot chocolate in our hands and just love in our hearts. I miss not having to miss her because I knew she wouldn’t leave me, and I miss not being alone late at night or early in the day, whenever I had a breakdown. You see, that’s why love is so unfairly criticized, because it can end friendships some times. I miss her being with me, but I don’t know if I miss us. There’s nothing to miss, so even when I try, I just fall apart with no memories to hold onto.

I dial her number every day just to hear the familiar ring of her cell, but I cut every time just after she says hello, cause I don’t know what I should say. I fear that once I start talking, there’ll be no stopping me and I’ll just go on about how I loved her and she never knew. I’d use words like waves against the walls of her heart, and I know she would try to calm me down, but anything she could say would only be like the howling wind acting as a fuel for the forest fire that my heart is in. I fear that I’ll tell her I am in pain because of something that we never became, of something that she doesn’t even know of.

I play the same songs on the radio in my car every day, and drive by the coffee shops, and flower stalls and empty streets that often call out for our presence. The receptionist at Walmart asks me why I haven’t been shopping late at night anymore, and the food vendors ask me why I look so dull. Little do they know, that I miss her muddy slippers and soft hands, and that I have lost her forever.

I miss her smell.

She smelled of sweet syrups and fresh roses, of expensive perfume and cheap thrills, of long drives and messy hair.


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