I Miss You

I miss you,
Your wit,
Your intelligence.

I miss you,
Your pain,
Your vulnerability.

I miss you,
Your warmth,
Your acceptance.

I miss you,
dear friend.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “I miss you.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “I Miss You”

  1. I MISS YOU

    Joey told his teacher he REFUSED to be in the class show because he DIDN’T
    have talent and WOULDN’T have his picture taken.
    She wanted him there, so she reassured him saying ” Go on stage, LIP SYNC,
    and when I take everyone’s photos, I MISS YOU!”
    Joey smiled .
    by Wendy Lee K…

  2. “You belong to me,” he said in thickly accented English, “until you die. Don’t pretend you don’t miss me.”
    “Miss you,” I said, as he stood before me in his suit and tie with the pointy shoes and fedora hat, looking like an elegant, urbane VULTURE, “I did as you asked because you had leverage over me…I kept the dirty secret of what went on between us because I was terrified of you, but I was HAPPY when you were gone, so no, goddamn you, I don’t miss you and I won’t pretend now that I do.”
    The urbane vulture, the man who in life had been my maternal grandfather, looked as though he didn’t hear what I just said. He just said, “Play with me, Cara mia, let’s go lay on the sofa.”
    “The hell I will, old man,” I said, “I got rid of you once, don’t make me get rid of you again.”
    He took off his suit jacket, he was unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the stab wounds in his chest, and that’s when the alarm clock went off…the dream disappated into thin air, but the last thing I heard the old buzzard say was, “Pay with me, Cara mia, one day you KNOW you will.”

  3. Oh, do I miss you! The test results came back that the severe pain in my foot was caused by a devastating rare Giant Cell tumor entwining itself around my little toe. All prior diagnoses indicated that it was a ganglyonic cyst. My father pish-poshed and told me to simply take a phone book and follow an old remedy by literally bang the area with the book to disperse it. The nurse told me that it was nothing to be concerned about. After doing research online and learning it was rare, I became frantic. To make a long story very short: I went to a top Boston teaching hospital and had it removed. It was wrapped around my “pinkie” toe so tightly that they had to amputate. They also had to cut some tendons under the fourth toe next to it where the tumor started to twist and grow. My M.O. prior to surgery when I was taking my final pre-surgery shower was to simply avoid looking at my foot. I ignored that “little piggy.” I pretended it was already gone. Now there are times when I do say, “I miss you.” “I miss you,” particularly when I’m trying to try on new shoes; after walking on any hard surface; at the end of a long day. “I miss you.”

  4. Mom was in mid-stage Alzheimer’s and knew she wasn’t a whole person anymore. Upon returning from the hospital the night Dad died, Mom uttered these words: “Who’s going to take care of me now?” I think they are the most poignant words I’ve ever heard. Mom didn’t say “I miss you, Al” but she meant it. Although Alzheimer’s was almost unknown at that time, deep down she knew she was captive in growing dementia for the rest of her life. From her perspective the one person she could count on for partnership, support, EVERYTHING was gone for good. For Mom and Dad their marriage vows were cemented in their psyches. “Til death do us part” was part of their very selves. With Dad’s demise Mom realizes she is no longer one-half but alone. The words, “Who’s going to take care of me now?” was her metaphor for “I’ll miss you, Al”. I knew it then and I know it now. I still miss both of them.

  5. The moment you leave, I miss you.
    I miss your laughter
    I miss your good sense
    I miss your noseying around
    I miss your heavy footstep
    I miss your thorough organisational skills
    I miss your smile and forebearance
    I miss you .

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