one hundred seventy-six

Hi,

I think about you all the time. Sometimes I want nothing more than for you to show up at my door; I’d grab you by the front of your shirt and pull you in for a kiss. I miss… everything. I miss the way you smell, the roughness of your greedy hands, the way you fuss with your hair, your slightly crooked incisor. I still remember the way my heart swelled when I saw you smile for the first time. I would get that same feeling when I wrote you poems, when I drew forth contented sighs from you, when you glowed in my presence. Your happiness was always mine.

It still is. You’ve hurt me so much, but I still desperately wish for your happiness. I hope you turn around and ditch law and pursue your passion in writing. I hope you manage to get your own place again and find a girl that you love coming home to. I hope she will know how to touch you, that she remembers to always keep Inca Kola in the pantry, that she can make you smile even more broadly than I could.

I’m seeing someone else and he’s everything you’re not. He’s lazy and a selfish lover. He makes me laugh and forget about you though, and I know that I will never feel a shred of love for him. He thinks I’m timid and withdrawn. He probably thinks I’m a little boring, but that’s okay with me. He says I should embrace stoicism, that I was so broken up about you because I didn’t realize that nothing is truly mine.

I never asked for you to be mine; I knew I held no possession over you. I only asked to be yours.

Oh well,

Me


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