I never thought that grilled cheese sandwiches would ever be something that I would miss. I still make them, obviously, but I don't make them for you anymore. There isn't that first slice that you eat--because you want cheese, dammit!--just like there aren't any more apple slices to make while the sandwich is grilling. It's simple, yes, but it's something that I really enjoyed doing because it was for you. Same with massaging your feet. I don't think I have a foot fetish, so it's nothing to do with that, it just made you really happy and you enjoyed it a lot and that was enough for me. It was more than enough.
Going back to the food side of things, I miss your cooking. Tofu had never been on a list of things that I ever thought I would like, yet there I was, all those times, eating fried cubes of tofu that were absolutely delicious! When you found out that I didn't like broccoli you apologized for using it so much, but damn if you didn't make it delicious and make me forget that I don't like it. You remain the only person that cooks broccoli in a way that I enjoy it. And lest I forget, Slurpees. It was never the Slurpees themselves, but the drive, conversation, and your satisfied expression as you enjoyed your banana flavored ice drink.
Speaking of driving, I miss having you in the passenger seat, holding my hand. Whenever you gave my hand a squeeze, my smile that followed was genuine. It's like that simple gesture was you telling me, without words, that you were there and you wanted to be. When we were lying in your bed and I was massaging your hands--for what turned out to be the last time--you laid your head on my shoulder. I felt so at peace in that moment that whenever I remember, think, or dream of it, I recapture that feeling. I've got that same goofy smile you like so much right now, this very instant.
Yep, still got it.
To be blunt, I miss your face. Not just because it's pretty--because dammit, it is! we've been over this!--but because of everything I could see in it. How expressive your eyes are, the way your brow would furrow in concentration, how your lips would purse if you wanted me to see just how not-really-but-pretending-super-hard-to-be serious you were. As easily as you could see through me, I could just as easily see into you; I still get chills when I see your face and the flashes of brilliance it so easily conveyed.
This entire entry could so easily devolve into a simple bullet list of things that have to do with you, but it would kind of miss the point; that I miss you. That's what makes all of this never seeing you again stuff so difficult. It's for the best, I know, but god damn if it doesn't make it any less painful. I miss you, Sage.
I always will.
To String a Violin
1 month ago