reblogged from here
You don’t miss them when you are busy. You don’t miss them six months later. You don’t miss them on a Saturday night. You don’t miss them when you are having breakfast or lunch or dinner. You don’t miss them while you are grocery shopping.
You don’t miss them when you are out partying with your friends. You don’t miss them when you are on your way home. You don’t miss them on Sundays. You don’t miss them in December.
You don’t miss them when you are looking through your photo albums. You don’t miss them every time your phone rings. You don’t miss them when you are rereading their old text messages. You don’t miss them when you are running your eyes over their old tweets that were directed at you.
You don’t miss their laughter. You don’t miss their smell. You don’t miss their eyes. You don’t miss their arms. You don’t miss their hands. You don’t miss their fingers. You don’t miss their lips. You don’t miss them when you are feeling lonely. You don’t miss them when you are alone.
You miss them when you have nothing to do. You miss them a year later when you can barely remember how they looked like. You miss them everyday and every night. You miss them when you are trying to enjoy your meal, because you remember how often you used to visit that café, or that Japanese restaurant, or how much they loved kimchi ramen. You miss how fun it was to be in a supermarket, giggling at a funny-looking eggplant.
You miss hanging out in a coffee shop until midnight, sipping a cup of hot chocolate while listening to their blabs. You miss how they used to hold your hand while they were driving you home. You miss how you used to spend your Sundays lying on the bed, catching up on Modern Family while snuggling with them under the covers. You miss them during the holiday season.
You miss how your cheek used to touch theirs every time you took a picture with them. You miss how excited you were to see their name on the caller ID. You miss how you used to talk with them, because you know that’s not how you talk to anybody else in the world. You miss how cheesy and silly their tweets were, you miss how they were mostly directed at you.
You miss making them laugh. You miss realizing how your clothes smelt like them, hell, even your pillows smelt like them. You miss how they used to look at you. You miss how warm their hugs were. You miss how they used to caress your hair to sleep. You miss how their fingers fit perfectly between the spaces of yours. You miss how loving, passionate, and sometimes lustful, their kisses were. You miss them when you are feeling sad, when you have good news to tell. You miss them when you are among the crowd, because you still try to see if you could catch a glimpse of them among all those people. Most importantly, you miss them because they made you feel like you were home.
Blooming Butterfly 