I miss love
Maybe it’s the cold air sending a chill through my bones, maybe it’s the seasonal depression making the ache grow in my heart. The combination creating a perfect cocktail; my addictive personality only fixated on the idea of someone’s love holding me as the only means of warmth.
I miss the way love felt.
I miss the way my heart would skip a beat, dancing to the rhythm someone else would set for it.
I miss the consistent reassurance that the butterflies in my stomach will be fed whenever I would see a specific person.
I fear those creatures are dead.
Each passing season I feel their wings decapitate and fall, camouflaging with the autumn leaves, the pollen, the snow, etc.
I miss the way love felt.
The way my heart would engulf my chest knowing I had found someone who considered me theirs, and them mine.
The friendship I’d build, that would reach deeper than my childhood friends at times simply because it did.
The way love-sick madness would make me crave for their scent, voice, words, touch.
I miss the way love felt.
The way love would fill me up and feed my starved body to keep me nourished on the days I felt the loneliness—empty.
On days when my depression would swallow me whole, leave me laying lifeless on my bed, a hallowed out version of myself; a zombie, brains sucked away by my minds own curated illness.
I miss the way love made that tolerable. Worth fighting through.
I miss the way love felt.
I miss the way someone being in love with me felt.
I miss someone being infatuated by my very presence, obsessed with me.
As if I was the first breath of fresh air after years of being submerged.
I miss the way love felt.
Maybe it’s just the seasonal depression making me lonelier.
Maybe it’s the days being shorter, the night staying longer.
I miss the way love felt.
Maybe it’s just time I redirected the love to myself.
