I miss you so much when we fight

Image by the fantastic Stuart F Taylor

I miss you. Every morning when I wake up and see you there, I miss you. I miss you while we’re exchanging emails about the minutiae of our lives. I miss you when we sit together on the sofa, our eyes locked on the telly, to keep each other out.

I miss you when we fight.

When you smile at me and tell me how your day was, I miss you. I don’t know what to say except ‘yes’ and ‘nice’ and ‘cool.’

I use old words and wonder what happened to dry up the new ones.

I miss the feeling of the soft hair at the back of your head, felt-like when I stroke it with the palm of my hand. Having a shoulder and chest and arms and stomach to cry on.

I miss feeling like I’m allowed to cross a room to kiss you. More than that, I miss wanting to cross a room to kiss you, and I hate this weird sensation of having to cajole my own desire.

The second we start fucking: I miss you. As you whisper filth and bite my nipples: I miss you. Your dry hands and your wet lips and your thick cock and your warmth – it reminds me that you’re there but gone, and so I miss you more.

Our conversation used to sound like a duet. When you asked me questions and we’d have debates. Play games or chat or make jokes together – like a tennis match, back-and-forth and up-and-down. So forgive me, but now I miss the sound of my own voice. I miss knowing what you’re thinking, and I’m sad that you don’t notice just how often I bite my tongue.

I miss you when we fight.

It feels almost literal, this missing. When we’re in the same room, with our voices raised, we miss each other. You chuck a hot rock of anger, I chuck a knife. And they whizz past each other, missing us and everything.

So we take aim again, and throw again. Over and over. Until everything around us is trashed. Then we stand in the middle, in shock.

Still missing each other.

I used to complain that I was never alone: that each compartment of my life was crammed to bursting. Squashed full of people and to-do lists and drinks and laughter and labour and love. But now it is filled with the ever-present absence of you.

I am with you all the time. Every day we wake up together and cook together and watch TV and sleep together. We fuck and we fight and we talk and we plan and we cry and we cry and we cry.

We’re a team, you and I.

And we are both so utterly alone.


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