I miss my past, my Europe so far, my boyfriend, my family and our trips together, Erasmus and Italy, amazing …old and full of centuries of magic. My grandpa who is a part of me and my model to live by, my neighborhood in Bucharest, cemetery and transvestites as well, I even miss the dust balls that I happen to hate, with their magic capacity of reappearing no matter how often you wipe them away.
I surely miss you, whoever you are, your kind words or your sharp tongue and wit, our long talks or our brief encounters.
I miss watching Dexter´s Lab with my brother, or a Hallmark detective episode with my mom.
Riding in the car with my dad, when he´s tired and quiet and calm as usual.
I miss his funny rhymes and the rare and precious stories from his youth. I miss my grandma whining on the phone
My classmates, my friends from university, our dances, our silliness, our philosophical truths.
I miss I miss I miss. When sad, I miss everything my senses ever met.
It´s bad, really…Missing things means missing out on the present.
And I know for sure that I´ll be missing this later on too.
With your head screwed on backwards, there is little place for talking steps forward, or actually seeing where you are going.
I know where I´ve been. I should start knowing where I am.