Missing is a strange, unpredictable feeling that doesn’t follow any clear logic. I am not always entitled to the things I miss. A bittersweet aspect of maturing is recognising that longing doesn’t necessarily prescribe an action.
I once believed that to address the ache of missing, I needed do something: reach out to the person, visit the place, savour the food, or seek out the clothing I once owned.
Now, I find myself learning to sit with this feeling, uncertain how to engage with it or soothe its presence…