Missing someone is not just about remembering their absence; it is feeling something impossible to ignore, a sensation that transforms into a fire that illuminates and burns. What do we do with that fire? How do we live with an absence that refuses to extinguish?
Missing someone goes beyond mere memory; it is a fire that burns from within, fueled by echoes of moments etched in our minds—moments that, more often than not, hurt rather than bring joy, more than we’d like to admit.
Of course, we miss the person: a mother, a father, a child, a sibling, a friend, a spouse, or a lover. We miss the moments we shared, but it is the details imprinted on our memory that linger—their laughter, the warmth of their gaze, the conversations, the touch, their voice, or even the silhouette of those moments we lived together.
And yet, we do not talk about it. How many times can you say the same thing? How many times can you repeat the same words without becoming tiresome? It is a pain we keep silent, a pain we do not scream about, yet it burns.
There are countless popular sayings: “Time heals all wounds,” “Distance makes us forget,” or “The heart learns to close its scars.” Perhaps they are true. But those who have loved deeply know this is not always the case. Some absences last forever. They are scars carried open, like an eternal flame that, far from extinguishing, becomes part of who we are—a chronic pain.
This inner fire burns brighter during times like Christmas, birthdays, or any occasion marked by their presence. Heavy with meaning and nostalgia, these seasons become mirrors reflecting their absence with even greater intensity. The empty chair at the table, the gift no longer bought, the hug that went unfulfilled—all those small rituals now weigh heavier than ever.
Missing someone during these times is not just an act of memory but of pure and profound love. It is walking through streets full of lights and feeling the darkness inside. It relives shared moments with the sharp clarity of a film that hurts to rewatch because you know the ending will never change.
The soul aches because what we miss goes beyond the person. It extends to a version of ourselves that existed alongside them, a version that continues but will never be the same. We remember the brightness of their eyes, their laughter, the warmth of their embrace, and how we felt complete—more alive. And in losing them, it feels like a part of us is lost, too.
Yet, I like to think that missing someone also illuminates. It is a testament to how much a person meant in our lives, of bonds neither time nor absence can sever. Amid the pain, it is also a reminder that we experienced something real that marked our existence in a way it can never be undone.
In seasons like these, the fire of memory burns hotter and brighter. But it also invites us to honor what we shared. To love is to dare to remember, even when remembering hurts. It is learning to live with absence and turning that pain into a whisper of gratitude for what we lived.
Perhaps some of us will never stop missing. But maybe, just maybe, we can learn that the fire burning in our soul does not only destroy—it also reminds us that, behind every painful heartbeat, behind every deep sigh that drowns us, behind every tear shed, there was a love so great that it transcended time and distance.
Because, in the end, the soul only burns for those who truly matter.
For Times Media Mexico / The Yucatan Times
José E. Urioste
Mérida, Yucatán
December 7, 2024
—
José E. Urioste is a Yucatecan businessman and a seasoned Business Intelligence professional. In addition to his business acumen, Mr. Urioste writes for multiple media outlets nationwide. Most of his writings are engaging and critical, unafraid to tackle controversial topics and challenge prevailing norms with a clear and often unyielding perspective. He has significantly contributed to the media landscape, sharing his insights through articles and hosting radio shows that provide in-depth social, business, or political analysis.
