Missing

I remember the last time someone told me they missed me. It wasn’t long ago.

People, places

habits, faces.

I miss everything.

Every little detail.

Every reluctant smile.

Every fleeting moment.

I miss it all so much that it’s the same as not missing anything at all.

And just like that

 I’m empty.

Instead of bearing the pain of missing & longing & remembering,

I look ahead

And keep walking.

Navigating this treacherous labyrinth we call Life.