Bittersweet tears well up on the brims of my eyelids, both frustrated and genuinely upset at the same time. One holds the hurt, filling rapidly so that the grey of my neutral rods can hardly make out two steps ahead; meanwhile, the second drifts between a blurry view and a fierce waterfall. My eyes loath the very truth of the thought, though they also shy away from it.

   It is the kind of truth that embarrasses you and stops in your throat when you go to say it, the kind of truth you ignore until it breaks you and makes your eyes a complete and utter mess. Your bottom lip trembles and you think, Oh God, don’t make me say it. Please, don’t make me say it now. And the next thing you know, you’re saying it or writing it down or typing it, and the tears finally fall all at once like rain in April, unexpected but you still know it’s coming.

“I just really miss you, is all..”