I never want to talk to you again.
But I wish I could hear your voice.
I never want to see you again.
But I still look at those pictures.
I never want to be with you again.
But I still dream about it.
I never want you again.
But I still wish you’d want me.
This doesn’t make me an idiot. This doesn’t make me weak. This just makes me someone who misses what we had but understands it was wonderful because it was brief. Perfect stories are always short. And our story was perfect.