You’ll Miss Her Like The Desert Misses The Rain

Like always, the day will pass by quickly with her. With most of the goodbyes done, you’ll both head back to her house. Silent, you’ll grab her hand as you both listen to nothing but the roaring of your barely-held-together Ford Explorer. And you drive, and you take the longest way to get back to her house. And when you both finally arrive, both of you will go up to her room and lay in her bed. Silence is your constant, and you’ll look her in the eye. Those eyes, could light up your life.

As you lay on the left side of your body, you’ll analyze her, running the outside of your index finger along her cheeks and jaw. The flawless skin, with beautiful freckles interspersed among her face like stars in the night sky. And her face is so beautiful. Perfectly symmetrical. That’s what people say when asked what “beauty truly is”. It’s symmetry, perfection among imperfection. Like every feature was carefully planned; schematically.

And so you gaze at her as a tear slips out of both of her eyes; her left eye creating a pool between the inner corner of her eye and the bridge of her nose and her right, letting it slip across her cheek as you gently wipe it away.

And you were determined not to tear up. Because if you did, that would only make things harder.

But when you say, “I will miss you,” she’ll close her eyes, and her face will wrinkle together, and she’ll begin to cry. It’ll kill you, more than the first time, as you brought your forehead to touch hers. You’ll close your eyes, and reopen them red and stained with tears. You began to cry. Just like you said you wouldn’t. And you’ll hate it, because you never cry.

But despite holding back, you’ll cry, as you try, at the same time, to wipe away both her and your tears. And it never works. More will replace the ones you swiped away with the sleeve of your hoodie. You would pull back your head occasionally to look at her pristine face, and then passionately kiss her. But tears will seep onto your lips, and into both of your mouths, which will taste like sadness and goodbyes. You will keep on telling her how much you love her, and she will do the same, but that doesn’t erase what the inevitable was.

You will drift in and out of sleep in her bed, because although you know you need to go, you just can’t. You want to wake up next to her one last time.

You will try and let her drift off to sleep so that you could slip away without her noticing so the goodbye would be easier. But every time, you would inch out of her bed, you’ll wake her up, and then you’ll quickly wrap yourself around her and say, “I can’t do this.”

And it will happen three times.

And when you finally realize you had to leave her room, walk down those dismal stairs, and drive away, you’ll say, “I think it is time for me to go.” And she will cry again. And so will you.

You will get up, and watch her in her bed as you would inch yourself towards the door. But when you finally make it past the threshold as you began to close the door slowly, watching her, you would thrust the door back open and run to her bed and kiss her a thousand times.

And it will happen three times.

And then it will actually be time for you to go, and you will know it.

So this time you will say not goodbye, but “Until next time.” And she’ll cry. And you’ll cry. Again.

So you’ll kiss her, and walk through her doorway, sadly waving goodbye and saying “I love you.” And then, the door will close. Her face will be gone. You’ll look down at your right hand clutching the door knob wondering if you could open it back up one last time and jump back into her bed.

But that’s what you thought the last time.

You can’t, and you’ll knew that. It will already be 5:23 A.M and she will have to leave at 6.

So in that surreal moment, you’ll look at her closed door, with stickers on it that spelt out “DIVA”, and you’ll cry. Once again, you’ll fucking cry. And then you, as quickly as possible, go to your car. You’ll even have second thoughts of going back once you’re in that Ford, but you’ll know. You’ll know you’d only be hurting yourself more. So you’ll drive away, noting the time. 5:30 A.M.

And you’ll watch the sunrise. That signature sunrise as you cried, not exactly knowing the next time you’ll see her. And it’ll hurt.

So, to comfort yourself as you gaze at that red sky, you’ll say to yourself: “Until next time.” Again.