Dear you,

How are you?
Are you well?
I hope you are well.
I really do.
You know?
I miss you.
Don’t get me wrong,
it’s not like I’m still pining over you
and embarrassingly enough I actually did that for quite a long while,
neither is it me thinking of you all the time
and that I also did.
To be true, these days, I hardly even remember you.
I mean, occasionally you do cross my mind
and I wonder,
I wonder,
I wonder…

But me missing you is something else,
entirely.
I rarely notice this because usually it is just like a thin layer of
well, what exactly?
a thin layer of nothingness,
of emptiness,
absence…
that surrounds me
like a glove,
like a second skin that fits so perfectly
that you don’t even feel it,
can’t even see it…
It’s hardly detectable, really.
And usually,
I don’t.
Usually, I miss this feeling
of missing…
You know when I met you,
you struck a chord in me.
I was silence
and you were music
and oh my,
did
I
love
music
.
.
.
so freaking much…
still
so freaking much…
I miss you.
I miss you like I miss music.
And it’s nothing I can feel, touch or grab with my hands and say:
that’s it!
That’s what I’m missing.
Because it’s nothingness, emptiness, absence…

I am silence.
And there was nothing wrong with that before…
But now I am silence who used to know music,
who used to know the most joyous wonderful exuberant song there ever was
and this silence
screams
so loud
inside of me.

So I miss you.
But not in the way you might think.
I miss you like a song I’ve long forgotten,
like a tune I can’t recall,
like music which I’m not longer able to remember.
I hardly ever notice because there is nothing left
but silence.

And you, you were music.

Love, me.