I want to know how you are.
I want to know about you, though I'm too full of pride, like you.
If you miss me. If you don't. If I should move on, or wait, or stay behind.
If I just give you the cold shoulder or beg you for release.
Want to know if you miss me. Miss me in your arms.
Miss the phrases we would say that would be too embarrassing with anyone else.
Miss the way I laughed, or called you names.
Miss my omelettes. Miss my uniform. My smile. The way I made love to you.
I want you to miss me. Do you miss me?
I feel like I can't ask you that. I want to know out of spite, and hatred.
And insecurity. I feel used. So fucking used.
Am I worth missing? Was I that easy to forget? Have you ever really loved me?
Do you still love me like you say you do?
Was it easy to tear yourself from me?
To throw away everything?
I feel like hating you for the rest of my life. Like burning your letters, and fucking a thousand girls boys, and being happy and you being miserable.
But I know it's not like that. Your life has already begun. I've already fallen back. I know I'll be the miserable one, because I never had anyone consistent in my life until you showed up.
I could never trust you again. Ever.
And I hope, when we see each other again. You'll miss me. You'll think to yourself, that you were so stupid to let me go. Because you didn't put up a fight for me at all.
I guess I'm not worth the fight.