I don’t miss you at 2am. I miss you when i accomplish a goal i used to talk to you about
There’s a familiar idea that we miss people the most during the quiet hours of the night, at 2 a.m., when everything feels still, and we’re left alone with our thoughts. But for me, That’s not when I miss you the most.
I don’t miss you when I’m lying awake, lost in the silence. I miss you in those moments when I’ve achieved something big — the kind of victory we used to dream about together — and you’re not there to share it with me.
It’s in those moments when I’ve crossed a finish line, holding the evidence of my hard work, that I think of you. Because you were the person I used to confide in about my goals. You were there when they were just fragile hopes, spoken in tentative words, more dream than plan. You’d listen, smile, and say, “I know you can do it.”
I miss you when I achieve the milestones we once talked about during our long conversations over coffee or walks. Back then, those dreams felt distant, too big to even write down. But you believed in them for me, even when I doubted myself. And now that they’re real, your absence feels sharper than ever.
Missing someone isn’t just about longing for them in sadness or loneliness. Sometimes, it’s about the void they leave in your happiest moments. It’s about their absence when you’re celebrating a victory they once helped you envision.
This kind of missing is bittersweet. It’s joy mixed with grief. It’s carrying the weight of everything they meant to you while still moving forward. It’s knowing their belief in you played a part in where you are now, even though they can’t be here to see it.
There’s a strange feeling in celebrating alone, where pride and sorrow coexist. You hold your achievement in one hand and the ache of their absence in the other. You want to say, “I did it,” and hear their response, but instead, there’s only silence.
So, I carry you with me in other ways. I let the memory of your encouragement guide me. I keep dreaming, striving, and achieving because that’s how I honor the part of you that still lives in me. Even though you’re not here to witness these moments, your belief in me echoes in every success.
I don’t miss you at 2 a.m. I miss you when life is cheering me on, and the voice I most want to hear isn’t there.
