it is true

I miss you.

terribly.

I miss the attempts at dinner by 630 and family jeopardy on the couch. I miss the love notes super- stickied to metal doors and underneath unruly shirts in looming newly- painted black dressers. The waking up next to you with "the kid" jungle-gymming in between. I miss the coffee you would make because I was too lazy to but always craved. I miss the miscellaneous flowers to miscellaneous jobs and the miscellanous love we sometimes shared.

I do.

miss you terribly.

And I wonder...was this all because you were "in love with the idea of being in love". Was I just your next chrissy, as she was your last michelle? And is XXXX the next me? Because, to me, you were the love of my life; And I was just the idea of that? How could it have meant so much to me and so little to you?

Why couldnt we just be happy? wait....i remember. you were never in love with me.

fuck.