(Originally written: October 25, 2020)

The flip or dip (or both) the heart does when thinking about the person it has been given to is a feeling I can still feel. An echo of it that I can call upon when I need to write love scenes or just want to reminisce. I can feel its accompanying breathlessness, mild mental dysfunction, widening pupils, joyous smile, goosebumps, and urge to close the distance no matter how far. Again, it’s just an echo. Like sunlight through a window.

I’ve felt those feelings at their full force a few times in my life. Perhaps that’s why their traces remain in me, waiting to be resurrected. At the time of my writing this, it has been around two years since my heart pumped as a boyfriend. And I tell you with full honesty that I miss being one. I’ve felt this way for awhile now.

It’s more than just the physical urges my age gives. I miss being someone’s home. I miss being the first thought when good news is received or help is needed. I miss being, as short and unimposing as I am, a guardian. I miss being annoying. I miss nonsense inside jokes. I miss knowing from a single look or change in word choice that I was in trouble or I would be getting an incredibly long hug and kiss.

I miss each language that I built with every person that has called me theirs.

I think my next person is out there. I hope they’re my forever. I haven’t learned from all my mistakes so ideally they’re patient with me. And, if we’re talking ideally, they hurry up and meet me so I can open the window. 

I miss the sun.