Fuck It, I Miss You

I lie awake at midnight, thinking about how it would have been if we were together; if you realized what I realized. These days I haven’t been sleeping as I spend time wishing you felt the same as I do. I do. Present tense. That would have been one for the books; we could have been the couple everyone would be jealous of.

But all I have are notes on my phone of things I wish I could tell you. All I have is wishful thinking bringing me back to February when I almost had you. I guess that’s what we’ll ever have: almost.

I miss you, and I want to tell you how crazy I went when I learned you got the note I wrote for you a week before Valentine’s. I want you to know fun gestures aren’t strange and I have a lot of them. They may come uninvited, but I know at one point, you liked them.

I miss you, and I want you to see how my once empty existence started having colors again. I stared at you and everything faded into the background on every occasion; every horrified look in the room didn’t matter because I was only looking at you.

I miss you, and I want you to know that, for a moment, I felt brave, alive, materialized, present, and new when I first held you in my embrace. I wanted to make you safe and protected from the previous pains you felt. I saw how my world eclipsed with yours and I understood the things I never did before. But like eclipses, it only lasted for a while; you escaped from my embrace and I was left searching the room for an empty seat.

But in the short while that you blanketed me with your shadow, that you pressed your body against mine, you painted me a blue sky, one I haven’t seen in a while. You changed the rules and I watched all of them disappear in a twist of fate.

I guess that’s what we’ll always be: almost.

I miss you, and I want you to know that I still feel the same after all this time. I feel stupid for writing this ode for you. Maybe that’s just me and my blind optimism, but I’m going to take my chances. You must think I’m a creep or hopeless, and maybe I am. But I bet no one has written you a poem, a piece, or a love song the way I did. No one could, at least in the way I can.

Fuck it, I miss you, and I wish you felt the same way. I wonder if it’s killing you like it’s killing me now that we’re not speaking.

I miss you but I know better than to bother you with my thoughts. I know you’re with someone now, and I’m not the kind of boy who will try to destroy the kind of happy you deserve to have. I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine. But for now, fuck it. I miss you even if you don’t want me to.