I miss you today.
I missed you yesterday too.
It’s been 15 months, and each day, the pain is the same.
I say this word again and again. What once was my favorite word in Portuguese has become a slogan for the pain I feel of missing what once was.
Saudade. What a beautiful, gut-wrenching, tormenting description of love and loss.
I’ll write it once more.
I miss you.
I miss your smile.
I miss our talks.
I miss being seen.
You meant so much to me and left too soon.
I had more to tell you, but you’re gone.
I guess I’ll write to the world instead.
Maybe one day you’ll find this.
Maybe you never will.
It doesn’t matter I guess. You’re gone after all.
I never told you, but I loved you like a mom.
You were my therapist, but in my heart, you were my mom.
Maybe in reality this can never be true, but in my mind, anything is possible.
I miss you every day.
Maybe it doesn’t make sense to mourn a therapist this way.
What if I told the world though, that you were my mom?
Then they would understand.
You left too early.
I miss you, mom. I really miss you.