I deleted your number three months ago.
I unfollowed you on Instagram.
I never say your name out loud.
I packaged up my feelings for you in a cardboard box.
That’s what I thought.
That’s what everyone thinks.
I don’t ask for it, but you come across my mind daily.
I still wish every text was you.
I take a cursory glance around at your subway stop.
There’s a part of me that thinks we’ll run into each other at our favorite bar.
That you’ll apologize for how you mistreated me.
And I’ll apologize about how hard I tried to hang on.
You’ll thank me for being there for you unconditionally.
And I’ll thank you for teaching me so much about myself.
You and l would choose each other and call the past, the past.
But for now, I’m done feeling guilty about missing you.
Because even though it was for a short while,
you still felt like home to me.