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  • Writer's pictureAnjana Rajbhandary

What I Really Meant To Say Is That I Miss You

Is there ever going to be a glass of pinot noir that will not make me think of you? To be honest, any glass of red wine will remind me of the first time I lied to you. I hated red wine, but I told you I liked it and that was just the beginning of the many lies.

It was a way for me to keep my wits about me because I would keep listening to your stories. I always loved your stories and that made the awful taste of red wine tolerable to me. You thought I was a good listener but most of the time, I was trying to hold on to the wine in my mouth for as long as possible so I didn’t have to drink a lot of it.

It was too early for me to be honest about my likes and dislikes because I was trying to figure out which of the categories you would fall under.

You told me that you would never hurt me and that wasn’t true either.

Of course, I always remembered all the details of your stories and of your face. You said you didn’t feel comfortable smiling, but you couldn’t help but smile when you talked to me at first, and how your hair curled towards the right of your face that you mostly kept covered under your hat.

You did have beautiful hair.

I observed the tiny details of you that no one could ever catch, the way you looked at and loved your watch—not because you care about watches but because of who it was from. That was very sweet.

You often went out of your way for me even if it drove you crazy and made you mad. We spent so much time assuming when we could have tried to be more honest. Years later, you are still struggling with honesty.

There is something very intimate about holding hands and I loved that most about us. The nights we walked around holding each other’s hand is probably my second favorite memory of you.

You didn’t realize it till years down the line that the day I could feel your heart everything changed in my life. I felt it on a much more spiritual level than I could understand.

I kept trying to disregard the abrupt end so I could forget the memories that you call true. So we could mystically reignite it like we did the night we met. That winter night will always be my favorite memory of us because I had everything because I had you.

I blamed you for too many things because it was easier. You blamed me for most things and that was expected. We kept finding each other in each other’s ways—sometimes as a barrier and sometimes as an escape but never as an answer. It’s like we came to each other to fill a void.

If you had asked, I would have given up everything to be with you (but you never asked) and I was waiting for years because I never wanted to give up on us. I thought we were meant to be but maybe we were just a beautiful mess.

You and I have both moved on with our lives and are happy the way we should be, but I still feel drawn to you and our conversations. I wonder would it really be that bad to give it one last shot?

Would it be that bad to have one more conversation where we are honest and say what we really want? Will you ever be honest with me?

I really meant to say that I miss you and still think of you every time I drink red wine.


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