Sometimes I Miss You.

Uchenna. Circa 2021.

(i)

You, five years ago. Dancing. Eating. Loving. Moving. Dreaming. A little reckless, a little lost. Where did you go? Do you know we still wait for you? Sometimes, I miss you.

(ii)

I know what I saw when you walked down and threw me that smile. I hugged you again. This time, long and firm. The hug felt never-ending, like something sacred. Like something we knew we shouldn’t have lost but did anyway. And yet, we let go. Because we were strangers now. And while sometimes I miss the bond, staying friends would have been a cruel, difficult insult to what was once shared.

(iii)

I was six. Your carrots and hugs were all I wanted. Then, it became the bath towels from your trips. Then, the new tech. Then, whatever attention you had left to spare. Sometimes I miss you, and what we never had.

(iv)

Sleep, you are golden these days. Every time I catch you, I almost feel guilty for enjoying you so much. But the lack of you makes me someone I don’t like. And still, sometimes I have to stay away from you on purpose because I know what I share with you. You were once my sweetest escape. Now, you feel like a privilege I am afraid to indulge in.

(v)

Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it’s a dull ache. Sometimes I am relieved. Sometimes I thank my God. Sometimes you are all I think of for a while.

(vi)

We saw Timi. He gave us a hug. He donated for us, you know. Such a good man. You would have smiled. You would have made a joke about it, something unserious but laced with that wisdom only you had. The kind that makes people laugh but later keeps them up at night. Sometimes I miss you, Joyce.

(vii)

Doctor Azeez still checks in. At least once a year. He’s quieter now, a little weirder too. I wonder if he will ever come back home. We no longer have laboratory conversations. I mean, I no longer have that life. He sends the same old photos, plus new ones from his solo nature hunts. He’s a better photographer now. I still remember Lauren Daigle because of him. And sometimes, when the silence stretches too long, I miss his brains.

(viii)

I miss you when you could get up, go to the gym, get yourself together, and power through everything. These days, you move slower, more carefully. You listen to your body more. It’s beautiful, truly, but maybe I just miss seeing you up there, untouchable, always.

(ix)

But missing doesn’t change anything, does it? The world doesn’t pause for longing. People don’t come back. Time doesn’t rewind. So we move, we stretch, we become. And still, sometimes, I miss you.