I am missing someone.
I don’t know if that someone misses me back.
We are missing all the moments in each other’s lives as we grow apart. We are growing in different directions and we are living separately within this wide, blue world.
I miss smiles and laughs. I miss tears and hugs. I miss hands, face, and heart. I miss everything as I cycle through memories of someone I used to know. Memories that may be bitter or sweet, but are part of all of the memories that made that person someone to me.
I am missing someone that doesn’t exist anymore. That someone I remember is a collection of memories in my brain.
I can’t miss the person my someone is now. How could I miss someone I don’t know?
Even that, even not knowing this person nowadays, I miss the opportunity I had before. I want more than just the memories of that person, I want the someone who exists today.
Most of all, I am missing someone. Someone just as he is, whoever he may be now.
People come and go out of all of our lives.
But some make an especially strong impression.
When looking at photos of a special someone I used to know, I trace the lines that build his face, eyes, mouth, lips, and hair. I wish I had more photos of his back and torso, legs and hands, the rest of his body. But I am thankful at least that I have photos of his face. I can remember at least his face, even if the rest of him fades away as memories dull.
Actually, just such a fear prompted me to ask him to make a voice recording for me. I had deleted a previous one where he read some encouraging statements I wrote to remind myself that life could go on and that I could become a different person. That I could become a happy person or happier than I had been beside him.
However, this second voice recording was genuine, his own words, slightly goofy and sweet and included his natural intonation and even a cough.
That brief message and so many photos from our life together: these consist of the evidence of a history I may someday forget.
But for now, I can’t forget or move so far away. Instead, I trace lines of his face in my favorite photos. I trace the lines of a face of someone I used to know.