when I say I miss you
- It means I missed you this morning, when sunlight washed through my window with golden waves and kissed my face with warmth—I thought it was you, if only momentarily—and when I opened my eyes, I found your side empty, the side I drew you in the night before lying empty.
- It means I missed you at breakfast, when all I wanted to do was make you something you love, something that brings delight and joy to your heart, and leaves you smiling after each bite — something healthy too, because we’re trying to be.
- It means I missed you, when I could have saw you off to work, when we could have walked, or rode, or explored our way to the place you call your job, and we could have awkwardly tried to say goodbye, dragging the moments to keep from turning away, to hold the ‘see you later’s on our tongues.
- It means I missed you when I rode the bus, with music playing through those white iconic headphones, and my head resting against the window that rattles with life, watching everything pass in quiet suburban scenes of green grass and rainbowed benches.
- It means I missed you when it rained, when the clouds weighed in heavy grey and sprinkles, and pours, fell upon my face as I stood there, wondering how long it would take for you to get your camera, for you to capture the moments in-between the rivulets on the window and the curve of a smile.
- It means I missed you at lunch, when I could have imagined a thousand excuses to visit you, to see you, to harass you, because I wish to see you with the kids, and cast in the heated butter glow of a blooming summer afternoon.
- It means I missed you in the late afternoon, where we could wander through parks, and photographed the sun through the tree leaves—fingers breaching the shadows—and the time we could waste on mind built playgrounds and getting lost in places we know so well.
- It means I missed you as I watched the sunset, as the blushed pink and orange nectarine colours bled through the sky, soaking the white clouds in brilliance and meshing palettes like water based paints, because we could chase the beauty to high places and forget the little things that don’t matter.
- It means I missed you at dinner, while I cooked as the food sizzled, while the house become intoxicated with smells that leave mouths salivating, because I want to cook the most delicious food for you, the kind that I can impress you with, so I can hear you say you’re proud.
- It means I missed you when night fell in full cover, when the stars sparkled with youthful optimism, and we could have spread blankets, and held hands in neon glows, and shared laughter over how our days had gone, and secretly, wished to catch a shooting star in the gleam of our eyes.
- It means I missed you, as I was examining the border of my side of the bed and the cliff edge that falls to the floor, the space I stretch my arms absentmindedly when I’m too tired to separate reality from dream, and forget that you are miles from me.
- It means I miss you, terribly, from the moment you have to say goodbye and to the second we exchange smiled hellos through tiny yellow-faced icons, and those infinitesimal periods between clicking enter and waiting for the purple italic words to say your writing back.
- It means I wish you were here, or I were there, or we were us, anywhere.
(Source: my-dear-haphephobic-heart)
I remember feeling it all. I remember feeling insecure and waiting for you to come home because my mind was playing all these tricks on me. I remember creating scenarios that seemed far more unpleasant than what the truth turned out to be.
In the end, you didn’t even try to prove me wrong.
I was right as hell and you allowed me to be the good guy.
Because you thought that you could save the day.
You’re not a hero… you’re just pathetic.
Money > Love
Growing up, I’ve always been told to respect all adults. Whether they’re rude or annoying, I still have to respect them.
But I swear to god, some adults are just too fucking childish and stupid. I have come across so many of my mums friends that are so ridiculously selfish and naïve that even my 5 year old cousin is smarter and more selfless than they are. There are also those adults who brag too much about their ‘perfect family’ or their fortune.
It is so annoying when one of my mums friends come over and talk to ME about her ‘perfect life’. I don’t care how big your house is or that you just bought your son a plane ticket to New York to celebrate his post-HSC life. I do not give a shit if you just bought your fucking 14 year old daughter a BMW when she doesn’t even fucking have her learners yet. She’s probably still figuring out which boy she should choose and which to dump. And I do not give a shit about how many maids you have to clean your fucking 1.5 million dollar house.
Mind you, some people aren’t as lucky as you are. Some people do not have four fucking cars in their drive way and another two in the garage. Some people don’t have a swimming pool in their backyard or a jacuzzi in two out of four of their bathrooms.
I am happy for you that you have a happy life and that you can purchase anything you want and when you want it. Some people aren’t just as lucky as you are. However, it doesn’t give you the right to talk about it every single fucking time you come over. I’m not even jealous. I feel sorry for you though. You haven’t even worked a day in your fucking life. You got knocked up at the age of 18. You’re just lucky you married a rich man. You didn’t have to struggle, feel the pain or want something so bad that you can’t have because all you have to do is just swipe that card.
I honestly pitty you so much. But you know what’s even more pitiful about you? Your family doesn’t have an inch of love present. And I’m not saying that to make myself feel better. I’m saying that because all it revolves around are materialistic things. God. How many fucking 14 year olds do you know that has a fucking BMW?
