i still think about you with embarrassing recurrence. most days, when i don’t let my mind wander too far, you’re not present as more than a casual afterthought— ‘i wonder how he’s doing,’ or ‘right, he showed me this.’ but when there’s a little more time and i let my mind reflect upon everything that has happened over the last few months, or when one of my friends mentions something that vaguely reminds me of you, i immediately think of us, of what we had and what we lost, or rather, perhaps, what you lost. in you losing it, though, i lost it as well, or rather, maybe, it departed me without my losing it—it was taken, in a sense, and i find myself missing you a little too much and a little too often.
i can’t listen to your music the way i used to, in estranged amazement and confusion—some things make too much sense now, evident answers to the question posed in the music, some things that you explained and for which i hear the clear direction without much thinking. some things i still understand too little, but in any case, the rhythms and the harmonies remind me of you too much. i hear it echo in the background of a psychedelic rock song, there for just a moment, but it reminds me of you. it all reminds me of how closely i let you come to my heart in such a short amount of time, of how naïve i was in putting so much trust in you.
‘i miss the friendship,’ i whisper to myself as i feel my heart race. it’s the only thing that makes sense, i think, because i don’t have feelings for you anymore. and i don’t—at least not like that, no, but it still hurts. it hurts, perhaps, that it wasn’t “enough,” but i know that if it’s not the right time then nothing is ever “enough.” it hurts that i still indulge in exploring the “what ifs” of what this could have been, and it hurts because i know you are aware of how great it could have been. but when you are not ready, or it is not the right time, nothing can ever be enough. and so i’m left missing you, or the idea of you, because, ultimately, it’s not you—had it been you, then maybe it still would be that today, because you would have fit into the idea i had designed, and we would either be together or already had our falling out. so, i miss this idea that was declared false, and it’s hard to let go of it because i never got to watch it play out.
i say i want someone that is decisively into me, and clearly, that wasn’t you, but, more than anything, i wanted it to be you. i wanted you to fall head over heels and be intoxicated by how much you loved me—and it’s ridiculous to miss it, because i know i would have hated it. i would have hated having yet another relationship where i’m put on a pedestal and misunderstood—but maybe you wouldn’t have done that, because when you talked to me you felt like you were talking to yourself, and in doing so we understood each other’s flaws and faults. maybe you could have loved me like that, hopelessly, and still held me at ground level, because you understood my virtues and my merits, and still knew viscerally what my humanity and mortality was like. maybe the way that you know yourself could have helped you hold me accountable to reality while still loving me, and maybe in learning to love me you could have also learned to love yourself.
i thought i knew you—truly, because you said you felt we were a mirror of each other—i thought i could understand how your mind worked, but at the end of the day i suppose i didn’t. your words of kindness and the tenderness of your fingertips on my waist, and the rudeness of your hand around my neck, and the many nights out late, getting food and talking about our day as it came to end and our week as it started to unravel—all of it, i fear, is now left in the past, unreachable, frozen in time—a passion that was extinguished too quick, before we could see what the results of it would be. if only we had let it burn until it died off by itself, then i would have some answers, and it wouldn’t hurt as much. maybe, in that case, you wouldn't cross my mind way too often.