They Were Perplexed

Missing someone is a funny thing.

At first, it's a big, painful hole in your chest. You can't miss it. You see everything in relation to the fact that you have a bit of your torso missing.

But it's weird. You don't stay that way, you start to get used to having the pain. It doesn't seem like you do anymore. It doesn't fade, it's like toothache, eventually it settles into the background of everyday life, like the CD that is constantly repeated at your crappy job.

Until something disturbs it.

When you have toothache you can't leave the tooth alone. You prod it occasionally, and it hurts like nothing else. It's like that when someone is missing for a long time. Every now and again, it'll hurt really badly, worse than at the start.

That's what makes it horrible. The ambush. The knowing that it hurts, that every day isn't right, but that you have to continue anyway. The half feeling of guilt that the pain isn't as fresh as it was when she walked up the airport gangway and turned at the top. You miss her, but you can't remember not missing her. So it's normal. It feels wrong for something like that to be normal to you.

Sigh. One week and one day and all this nonsense will be over. I'll have Lori, I'll never have to watch her walk away from me again, without knowing I'll see her again soon. This is a good thing.