#thinking of second grade and mushroom haircuts

‘I miss you everyday’ seemed like an impossible task, an unkept promise, a twisted white lie. Until I found out it isn’t.

God, I miss you. I miss you like I breathe, like I blink, sneeze, roll my eyes. It’s not a task, not a promise, and sure as hell not a lie because what would I gain from admitting that thinking about you isn’t something that I do, but something that happens to me on it’s own. I don’t imagine your face before I sleep or recall our conversations in my free time. You’re just there, like a low humming sound, a bright colour in peripheral vision. You’re in some nerve of my brain, a corner of my heart, subconsciously keeping me occupied. And on days like today, when you occupy the forefront of my mind, I realise vividly that it is painful still, that the past two years haven’t dissolved the lump lodged in my throat. Time hasn’t dulled the pain like I was promised it would. I love you friend, I’m so happy we made peace, wished we could’ve done it sooner. Every moment fighting and making up with you, I cherished then and I do now. You were so annoyingly perfect, charmingly flawed, and you know I’m not just saying it because you’re not here anymore. Are you smiling cheekily? I bet you are.

Happy birthday, lark. I miss you everyday.

17 September 2021.