There are a hundred thousand ways that I miss you and each of them catches me by surprise. Today it was the sunset and the colours it made, bleeding into each other in a symphony of warmth, light and beauty amongst the cold, bleak grey of winter.
I saw it and wondered if you were a part of it, it seemed so passionate and sincere in its place amongst the darkness.
It just was, despite everything around it.
Just like you were.
Some days it’s the smell of rain, or the sound it makes on a tin roof, of the way it draws the heat from the pavement. All challenges to the idea of what rain is, should be, or is expected to be; a break from the usual, a reprieve from the smug warmth of a burning hot summer day. An honest shock to the system that breathes freedom as the city exhales under the oppression of the heat.
Your honesty was like the rain, even in its coldness. A shock to the system but a welcome one at that. I miss you every time it rains.
Some days it’s watching my son, seeing him learn new things, experience new emotions and lessons as he grows. I watch his tiny eyes widen in wonder as he picks up a new object, or discovers a new sound he can make. His honest joy at what he can do bubbles up and over his face in squeals of delight and it reminds me of you and your gadgets. Tweaking, tuning, testing, playing. Your joy on stage and behind the scenes was never dampened even after so many years. I miss your presence.
And some days it’s the music. Oh god, it’s the music. You’re in every guitar sound, every masterful production, every loop, every great song. The elation, the sorrow, the release, the peace, just like your personality in all its forms. You were always the music. You still are. I miss it. And I miss you.
Of the hundreds of thousands of ways I miss you, the one that hurts the most is every single day my life goes on without you. Even though I know you wanted that for me. I try and imagine who we’d be by now. How you’d fit. Where you’d stand. What you’d say. But it’s fading, and that weighs my heart full with sorrow. Because with each day you become less vivid. Less present in my ear. Less frequent in my dreams.
And that then begins a whole new way to miss you.
And it still catches me by surprise.