words unsaid today.

I miss you.

I love you. I know I don't say it enough.

I hate talking to you. I hate the sound of your voice. I hate that I can think I'm so strong, so in control, so finally sound in my understanding of myself, and you can say one word to me and tear it all to shreds.

Nobody else on the planet calls me 'honey' except you. You were laughing when you said it, chiding, teasing, and I was almost crying because it's been so long since I've heard it.

I almost called you on Valentine's Day. Everyone was talking about candy and flowers and Valentines, and I was remembering a day when I was young, sitting on the floor in the living room while you cooked my dinner, me asking you what you got Sissy for Valentine's Day and you answering that she wasn't your Valentine, I was, and that I always would be, because nobody could ever love me as much as you do.

I was really, really angry when I left you. I told people I hated you. I don't; I never could. It's just so hard, sometimes, to make myself understand that you never hurt me on purpose. I know you didn't mean to. I know you don't even realize that you did it. I don't blame you anymore.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you completely. I want to, but I have too much of you in me; I'm too stubborn, too quick to anger and too good at holding grudges.

I just don't understand why I was never enough. I don't understand why you needed something else, why the knowledge that you were pushing me away and that you could lose me wasn't proper motivation to make you stop.

When I think about my future, the first thing that comes to mind is this horrible fear that my kids aren't going to have a Grandpa.

Nobody else can make me feel as childish and small as you can. Nobody else can make me five years old again with a single word, or a sigh, or a laugh.

I don't have any idea how to interact with you. Or how to think about you. Or how to feel about you.

I miss you.

I love you. I know, I don't say it enough.

Here's a line I've had running through my head all day; it hit me while I was driving, and I was so absorbed by it that I accidentally ran a red light.

"And the girl thought to herself that those around her might never truly see her as she saw herself, but that this was not, as a whole, a negative thing; for while the world would never understand the girl, the girl -- in all of her starry-eyed, wanderlusting dreaming, her head lost among the clouds and her feet lost upon the earth -- would, in return, never wholly understand the world."

It has potential, I'll give it that.