I miss you, but you were never mine
I sit in bed at night and look next to me, only to see an empty space of wrinkled sheets, where you should be, but you’re not.
I fall into sweet dreams, hugging my pillow closer and closer, wishing it were you embracing me back. But it isn’t.
My heart skips and my eyes twinkle at my phone screen as it lights up, hoping it says your name. But it never does.
I miss you.
And there’s nothing wrong with missing someone. But you, you were never mine.
We never had a label. I was never sure what our hot drunken makeouts or sober conversations meant to you. The lines were always blurred and though I tried to draw over them in permanent marker, that marker was always out of ink.
When I pulled back from whatever it “was” you tempted me to stay, and I listened because I knew I wanted to, and thought you did too. When I stayed, you became too comfortable with me always being there at your beck and call. At times, I felt unappreciated. But when you fought for me, and opened your heart up, I could feel your pulse through my bones. I could feel how you felt. It felt incredible.
What started off as something physical slowly turned into something more, as it usually does. Nights together turned to days, turned to weeks, turned to months. And after a while, it felt as though we were truly together, until you left. Being unable to say goodbye hurt, but I knew you were merely protecting yourself. I forgive you. I can’t be mad; you were never mine to let go of.
I don’t doubt that you loved me, or that you still do. I love you too, and think I always will. It just doesn’t seem fair to miss you when I never really had you in the first place.