I miss that day when I wanted to go to the old quarter in town, and you purposefully waited to catch me at the door, pretending that you were going there too. That trip ended up being our first date ever. On the same day we visited a clock tower and I only let you know halfway up the climb that I could easily pass out from fatigue. You panicked and insisted on us stopping, but I pushed on with it anyway. The view at the top of the tower was worth every bit of the struggle though.
I miss the evening when I was getting cold walking around, and you gave me your jacket. You were left with just a thin sweater but never complained, because you were willing to bear the cold of a December night out of concern for me. I miss all the times you pulled me closer in the crowded metro car, and how tightly and steadily you held me against every jolting movement of the metro. I miss the feeling of comfort that came with the sight of you each time I floundered around in a noisy and chaotic crowd of people to search for you.
I miss your excitement every time you cooked a tasty meal for us, and your hopeful anticipation as you watched me take the first bite. I miss our shared efforts in baking a batch of chocolate chips cookies, which turned out to be a disaster because neither of us happened to understand how baking worked. Heck, I even miss the chores, all the cleaning and laundering we did together – joyfully as if they were the most exciting things we could ever get to do.
I miss the lazy days when we just lounged in bed from morning to night, not wanting to head out in the cold to explore the mysterious city. We stood up and fell back onto the bed, repeatedly like a never-ending film roll. One moment it would be you dragging me out of the room, the next it would me pulling you along. I miss being just as lost as you were in my very own city, and yet we ended up having the most fun going off course into some unplanned adventure serendipitously. Every moment navigating life with you would feel like I was drawing from this bottomless well of pure bliss and contentment.
I miss that morning when I had to leave you to go back home. We woke up at 5am to head to the airport but neither of us wanted to leave the bed. Or more like neither of us wanted to leave each other’s arms as we embraced in that little attic bedroom. I cried less on that day than during our previous parting, maybe because my tired and sleep-deprived brain had not yet processed all the feelings. But it was reassuring how you waited until I’d vanished behind all the airport doors and booths before leaving. That would mark yet another achingly lonely period of long distance, from which only the constant thought of our next reunion could save me.