Home-sick.

You’re like that missing tooth my tongue tends to reach out for. You know that feeling? When you had just gotten one tooth taken out and your tongue still reaches out to feel if it’s there? Yeap, that’s what you are – that missing tooth. That missing piece in the nooks and crannies, hollows and cob webs in my head.

That afternoon I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to you. Homesick, I would describe it. I felt homesick for you. I guess it’s true when you’re feeling that way for someone, you don’t really want things to go back to what it used to be. Instead, for a moment right then and there, you crave for how their palms feel when you delicately touch it, and how they smell at the back of their ears. That smell. That patch of curly hair. You remember every detail of their face and you wonder if they still look and feel the same. Just for that moment.

That place I used to call my comfort zone felt like a dark, cold place. That dull, numbing pain that still burns in me. It’s a weird feeling. Disgusted.

Homesick, perhaps, is what I can say this is. Homesick. But I don’t want to go home.

And just like that tooth, you were meant to be gone.

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