Through the Fog

Tag: missing someone

  • I Still Think About You

    I still think about you.

    More than I should.

    Less than I used to.

    I guess that’s progress.

    You show up

    in stupid places—

    songs I didn’t choose,

    roads I’ve driven

    a hundred times,

    the middle of conversations

    that have absolutely

    nothing to do with you.

    And suddenly

    there you are.

    Not really.

    Just the version of you

    my memory refuses

    to throw away.

    Sometimes I wonder

    if you think about me too.

    If my name ever crosses

    your mind unexpectedly.

    If you ever reach

    for your phone

    before remembering

    we don’t do that anymore.

    I hate wondering.

    Because wondering

    is just hope

    wearing clothes

    it thinks I won’t recognize.

    And I recognize it.

    Every fucking time.

    The truth is,

    I don’t even know

    what I want from you anymore.

    I don’t know

    if I’d come back.

    I don’t know

    if I’d answer.

    I don’t know

    if hearing your voice

    would heal something

    or tear open everything

    I’ve worked so hard

    to close.

    I only know

    that I still think about you.

    And maybe that’s allowed.

    Maybe moving on

    doesn’t mean forgetting.

    Maybe someone can matter

    without belonging

    in your life anymore.

    Maybe I can miss you

    without reaching for you.

    Love what happened

    without asking

    for it to happen again.

    Remember you

    without turning the memory

    into an invitation.

    So yes—

    I still think about you.

    Sometimes softly.

    Sometimes angrily.

    Sometimes with an ache

    I can’t quite explain.

    But I don’t mistake

    thinking about you

    for needing you anymore.

    And maybe that’s

    how I know

    I’m finally letting go—

    you still cross my mind,

    but you don’t get

    to take me with you.

  • Missing You

    I didn’t think being away would feel like this —

    like living in a pause.

    The world keeps spinning,

    and I’m somewhere outside of it,

    trying to remember how to breathe again.

    They say this is where healing happens,

    but no one tells you that healing can feel

    a lot like breaking in private.

    Like tearing down the parts of yourself

    you built just to survive.

    I miss you in the quiet moments —

    in the slow mornings when the walls hum softly,

    in the long nights where time forgets how to move.

    It’s not just your voice I miss,

    it’s the way your presence steadied me,

    the way your silence felt like understanding.

    Some days, I want to tell you everything —

    how it hurts to be here,

    how it’s lonely even surrounded by people,

    how I’m learning to sit with the pieces of myself

    I used to keep buried.

    But I know I’m here for a reason.

    I know I have to face the dark before I can find the light again.

    Still, I carry you with me —

    in every small step, every shaky breath,

    every promise that I’ll come back whole.

    Missing you isn’t weakness.

    It’s proof that I’m still capable of love,

    even while learning how to love myself again.