In French, you don’t really say, “I miss you.”
You say, “Tu me manques,” which is closer to, “You are missing from me.”
I love that. “You are missing from me.” You are a part of me, you are essential to my being. You are like a limb or an organ, or blood. I cannot function, without you.
I feel like I’m going to explode. Like my insides are gonna somehow make their way to my outsides. Like when you pour salt on a slug. Yeah. Just like that. According to you, I have no right or reason to feel this way. And maybe you’re right. That doesn’t change how I felt, how I’m not sure I still feel. I just know that when I look at you, I don’t see you anymore. If I have to be around you, I feel like I’m suffocating. Like I’m always on the edge of a panic attack. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair how comfortable you are with this. How easily you’ve moved on. As if it never meant anything. And I feel like this. Like a salted slug. Like all of my insides are constantly on display for you to see & mock. Vulnerable. Scared. And you’re fine. Completely unscathed by any of this. It’s just not fair. I can’t stand it. I’m not ok. I don’t have to be ok. I’m allowed to feel how I feel, & it’s normal. It’s ok. I don’t need to be judged for it. I don’t need to be mocked for it. It’s just not fair.
