Why do I miss you?

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I hate you, don’t I?

I hate the way you smell. Old spice isn’t a perfume I’d buy because of you. I hate the way your prickly hair pokes, and I can’t seem to forget how much it stings. I cannot stand your voice and hate how narcissistic, stupid, immature, and foolish you sound. Your face makes me want to punch it, but feels like your personality does enough and I shouldn’t ruin your chances.

Yet I look for your scooter as I walk through the parking lot. I take a minute to compose myself when I run into you and you seem to need a minute too. But you don’t feel the way I do, but what do you feel?




Because you never bothered to tell me anything about this. You’ve told me about how you felt about the world, your ex, your family, your passion, love, life, art, music, films, books, food, my choices in life, my life, but never really about me.

You’ve said a lot of things to me. We’ve been to places together, we’ve done things together, we’ve gone out drinking, riding, walking, we’ve fought, screamed and insulted each other, we’ve laughed and cried, you’ve kissed me and I didn’t because you didn’t like it.

It was love of a different kind, unconventional, stupid, and one-sided. I guess after phasing out of denial, anger & hatred, now I’m probably going through acceptance and after this I hope to be over you, for good.

Hope is all I have left.


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