Sometimes I miss the people who are no longer here.
Some of them are dead. Some of them (most of them) I didn’t know all that well. I miss the ones who died young in a special way, because I’ll never find out who they might have been. I had a high school classmate who died within a year or two of graduation. Ironically, I think about him more than I would have if he were still here. Him being missing leaves questions that I know can never be answered.
Most of them, though, aren’t dead. They’re just gone. They’re out there somewhere (as far as I know) doing a lot of the same things I do: eating, sleeping, working, playing, talking, making new things. Occasionally I might spot their phantom electronic footprints. But our circles never intersect. We are the parallel rays in a geometry problem, branching off into our own separate infinities.
Except when I think of them.
The people who are no longer here have left their shadows behind, encased in my neurons. They do not know what I think, what I feel, the personal story of my existence, but they remain a part of me. Most of them touched the events of my life, but the most enduring of them changed who I am. I still hear their voices echoing forward from the past.
I feel their absence.
The ones I miss the most are the ones I love the most. Love/loved, it all blurs together, but in my memory it remains present tense. I wonder why we’ve formed our own worlds (no fault, though, because fault is for frightened people). I wonder if we think the missing is better than the reality. I wonder if it’s true that time is malleable so I can bend it backwards through these small gaps and spend another moment in their company.
Most of them will never read these words. A few will, but I might never know.
I miss you. The ghost isn’t the same as the original.
The Practical Free Spirit 
Yes. And the pain is unbearable.
These words are lovely.
When I say lovely, I mean beautifully crafted, sentimental, not overly emotional, but clear rational, human thoughts by a great writer.
Thanks, Chris. Your comment made my day!
Lovely. Sometimes I feel my great aunt and father near me. Can’t say how, just feel them.
It’s interesting to think about how people live on in your memory, isn’t it?
I think of people like pendulums: they swing into your life, often unexpectedly and sometimes with great force. But sooner or later they usually swing back out, often likewise unexpectedly. Some eventually swing back in again later, but you never know.
I like that visual. I can imagine every person I know flying through the air on a trapeze….
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