I miss you.
I really do. And yet, my life isn’t really so different now; it just feels emptier. Maybe I miss the idea of you. It’s not like you’re truly gone. I’ll still see you, talk to you, occasionally, at least.
I wish things were different. I don’t want to, but I do. I want the best for you, and I’m not it, I know that, but part of me still wakes up every morning hoping today’s the day you text me to say you were wrong, and you realize that now. But you never do. And it’s unfair of me to hope for you to. You have your life, and I have mine. I just wish things were different.
I knew from the beginning that you didn’t feel the same, that you wouldn’t. How could you? My world was changed when you were out of it, but I doubt if I even crossed your mind. You were so much to me, and I was just a friend to you. That’s okay; you needed a friend, and I would give up nearly anything to help you.
I thought I was over you. I even have a date coming up. But memories of you don’t help, and that vague hope only hurts. What if? That question will kill me. I thought I’d moved on, but little crushes pale in comparison to you, whom I loved.
Who I think I still do.