Many months later.
I don’t know whether I believe in love at first sight. Not because I’m a cynic, but because I can’t comprehend suddenly surrendering your life to someone the second your eyes meet. I can’t imagine my heart forgetting everyone and anybody else and replacing them for just that one person’s name just because they happened to be in the right place at the right time. I can’t imagine falling in love without the awkward hellos, the lingering goodbyes and discovering someone’s dreams at 1am.
But I certainly believe in meeting someone and knowing at that second that this person is special; they aren’t just going to be someone lining the framework. They’re going to be deep; they’re going to be intricate; they’re going to be the foreground. I’m not sure whether it’s the heart, or the mind, or either solely one of these which decides this, but all I know is that it happens.
Because meeting you was not just stumbling over another polite hello. It wasn’t shaking your hand and moving back across the room to more familiar territory. Instead, it was a terrifically clichéd glow; it was the sudden realisation that something was quite different about you. It was that very moment of looking up at your smile and finding something enchantingly comfortable; something scarily familiar in the face of a handsome stranger.
I remember each little moment I saw you since the very first meeting, and you still resounded that significance; the fact that I had never found myself drawn to someone I had just met. And then getting to know you? That was probably just as magical. Every moment, every crackle in your laugh and every wide-eyed gaze seemed to show just how different you were. Yet I still never realised how prominent you were going to be.
Because never before has letting someone leave been so easy, yet so excruciatingly hard at the same time. It was not just the absence of missing something that fit so comfortably, but the frantic search to find something which resembled something which could somehow fill the void and stop the pain. I’ve spent the past five months trying so hard to forget you, and I still cannot understand why you can’t be like anyone else; I don’t understand why you can’t fade yourself back into the framework.
In German, you ‘er fehlt mir so viel’, which comes from the infinitive of ‘fehlen’: to lack.
Because missing someone is more than an emotion: it’s the physical reality of something missing. It’s saying that without someone, you’re lacking a very own piece of you. It’s saying that without someone, you are not complete. Something is gone, and it’s not right, and that their very presence is esstential to your being.
You are not the same without that one missing part.