I don’t know why I miss you or if I should miss you. I don’t even know what historical place you were supposed to hold in my mind. Maybe you were a set of realizations, a meaningful lesson, a glimpse of what I should have learned years ago. And maybe it’s weird that I wonder what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. And maybe it was more of myself that I saw in the rough palms of your hands, some type of reflection I needed to emit back to myself like the uninvited sunlight on a gloomy Sunday afternoon. I needed it. I needed you. And now maybe I don’t.
Shitty writing for a shitty situation, that’s all I can think. I don’t care to spill my ink into twisted words that sound more beautiful then they really are.