Sometimes

Sometimes.

It’s been

Eleven years –

that’s

one hundred and thirty two months

five hundred and seventy two weeks

four thousand and eighteen days

ninety six thousand, four hundred and thirty two hours

five-point-seven-eight-five-nine-two-million minutes

or too many seconds to count.

On one hand, you feel a lifetime away

On the other, I can still see your smile;

smell the perfume on your clothes;

feel you push the hair out of my face

and tuck it behind my ear

as the gentle sweep of the fan in your other hand

tickles my cheeks

and I listen to you

sing me to sleep.

I’m a real adult now –

Not just the pretend grown-up

you forced me to be when you left

all those years

(months/weeks/days/hours/minutes/seconds)

ago.

I have a real big-person job

And a real house (and a real mortgage)

And real responsibilities

And a love more real

than I thought I could know.

I can actually function on my own

And for the most of it,

I am happy

And thankful

And grateful for all of the amazingness

that life’s given me.

But sometimes,

Just sometimes –

I miss you.

Okay that’s a lie –

I miss you always.

And I’m sorry that you’re not around

To see everything

That I’ve come to be

Despite the you-shaped hole

that was left behind.

It’s okay though,

I only let it get in the way of my happiness

Sometimes.