I miss being stuck inside the car, whether in heavy traffic or in a long drive, and the AC’s booming while the rain’s pouring. I miss hearing the tunes from my childhood playing through the radio.
I miss seeing grey skies from the 20th storey window. I miss being face to face with the strange melancholy and slowly feeling the mist become drizzle. I miss lying down on the cold, asphalt pavement while patiently waiting for the drops to come and the storm to unfold its wonder. I miss seeing nature’s light show.
But mostly, I just miss you.
I miss you being in the driver’s seat, patiently wading through the heavy traffic or recklessly speeding in the highway, raining or not. I miss the radio being tuned in your radio station.
I miss you making sure I get to the mountain right away, just before the light show starts. I miss you telling me you like the rain, too. And I think that’s one of the things I got from you.
Sometimes, I wish you didn’t get sick. It took you away from me and the little things we did together that meant the world.
Sometimes, I wish you didn’t shy away when I wasn’t capable of taking care of you. And I wish you didn’t get stubborn and stone cold when you learned someone else drives me home.
But mostly I just wish you won’t die. Not yet.
I’m not ready to let you go yet.
Not like this.