Some days I catch myself missing you without even realizing.
I miss the way it felt to have your fingers interlocked with mine. No hand has, or ever will, fit as perfectly in mine as yours did.
Everything with you just felt right.
From the depth of my soul, I truly believed we were going to be something so real. I thought we were going to be together forever.
I miss the late night phone calls that would last forever and never go silent. I miss the heart to hearts and learning about each other from the inside out.
I miss feeling important and meaningful in another person’s life.
And God do I miss finally being able to kiss you after what felt like an eternity of not seeing you. You were like a rush to me, the adrenaline I craved, then the calm to the storm that I so desperately needed.
Just one look into your eyes and immediately my anxiety disappeared. I never had a thing for brown eyes until the day I met you. Yours were captivating. I could’ve loved them forever.
Just the sound of your voice would make me smile and but my heart at ease.
But then, just as easily as I remember all the reasons I miss you, I remember twice as many of why I don’t miss you.
Because you can only be someone’s second, third or ever fourth choice so many times before your heart starts to lose its passion for them. The parties, friends, school, work, movies, games, whatever were more important to you than I was.
The thing is that we all have time for the things that are important to us.
And with every time you hurt me, every time you treated me like I meant nothing to you, every time you ignored me, the less I cried. My heart was seeing your true colors and honestly, when I saw your toxic side I realized this was all your doing.
You walked out more times than I could count. All I wanted was for someone to fight for me, to stick around and hash it out instead of running away because it was ‘easier’ in that moment.
I would be stressed to the max, bawling my eyes out, but that didn’t seem to matter much. With each time you left, I loved you less and less.
I don’t miss the fact that you rarely made time for me.
Or the fact that you treated me as if I were inferior and dumb for no good reason.
Our ‘love’ was not the kind of love that I wanted.
Our ‘love’ was the kind of love that killed individuals from the inside out.
Our ‘love’ was convenient, but never for me, just for you.
Our ‘love’ is the type of love that no one should strive for, or glamourize and I no longer do.