How’s Your Halo?

There comes a point where you miss someone so much that you can hear their voice echo in your head.

You can almost hear the names that they used to call you; the words they used to tell you, the tone of their voice as they spoke, the ways certain alphabets roll off the tongue or go missing completely.

You can almost envision the words they’d write, each mistyped and misspelled word, the funny way they’d tell time, the way o’s always somehow gets swapped with p’s.

Each laugh, smile, chuckle, frown, jibe, joke, tease or roll of the tongue, all etched deep in the lining of the memory.

But the memories are tainted, tarnished, since the words and the laughs and the joking jibes were last exchanged.

The memories are an illusion, a lie. Mean and taunting. A cruel reminder. Like an unwanted child gestating in the womb, slowly and surely growing larger by the day, no longer becoming an ignorable problem, slowly sucking the life out of the poor carrier that is the mother.

I think I finally know now what it is with the general population’s obsession time travel.

“I miss you so much it hurts.”
Dear John (2010)

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