I can pretend I don’t miss you.
But I do.
I can pretend that I don’t think about you.
But I do.
I can tell myself I’ll be ok.
But I don’t know.
I can do my best to hate you.
But I think about the day you held my foot while you slept.
You said you just needed to know I was there.
And I still love you.
I can tell people I hate boys and that I’m happy being alone.
But more than anything I want you to see this, Antonio Leeprinceton L. I want you to remember me the way I was, when we were new and not the girl you left. I know I broke us and its my fault I’m not spending my summer in your bed, and I secretly hope you miss me, I hope deep deep down that you think about me and want to call me.
But I know that will never happen. I know you love the single life of girls and drinking and x box and friends much more than you would miss me. I think about calling you. Telling you I’m sorry.Telling you I miss you. I love you. I want to try again. But I don’t.
I know you would laugh. So I spend my days working and reading and listening to music, avoiding the songs that remind me of you. I go to bed at night, and try not to think about what I fucked up. I don’t let people see me cry. I try not to let them see me hurt.
I know you won’t see this, and even if you do it won’t matter.
But I’m sorry.
And I love you.