I miss driving with you.
I miss the way your hand was always in my leg, and the soft squeeze you'd give it every now and then. I miss feeling tired and sleeping on your shoulder with out realizing or wanting it. I miss driving home hoping to see you already there because I can't wait any longer to kiss you and say hello. I honestly don't miss the stench in your car after you've had a smoking frenzy inside it or the fact that you could always find an empty pack (or two or three) of cigarettes just laying somewhere around it; but I do miss noticing you washed the car because we're gonna go out and not saying anything about it just to keep the mystery up.
I miss my hand in the back of your head, digging its way through that big mass of hair you have while I look outside the window, not really thinking of anything, just feeling happy. I miss rambling about none important stuff and the look you'd always give me as if were crazy for worrying over such stupid things. I miss being mad at you in the car as we get home and getting a huge goodbye hug because in the end we're both stupid and sorry about being mad and stupid at each other. I miss all the little details you knew of me, and the faces we'd made to each other when sharing the same thoughts around other people, or the way you'd burst into laughs every time I said something stupid. I miss the faces on photographs and the constant teasing. I miss the friend I had in you. And only sometimes, the lover.
But, you know, it's not a dying feeling. It's not a desperate call or a needy crave. I'm not feeling my lungs dry or my words draining down, my heart won't stop beating and my life won't be over. My eyes aren't red from crying, and honestly, I haven't even felt the urge to throw myself to the ground and weep at all. No tears, no crying. I'm living my regular life, doing what I'm supposed to do, being perfectly ok. Having fun, meeting people and doing new things. There are only a few times, as I come home at night and I see a car like yours, that I find myself kinda hoping it's you. Just to say hi. Just because I'd like to say hi. Just because it's always nice to see you.
But... then again, it's not.
It's not nice to see you.
Because, when I try to think about the good stuff, it's always the bad ones that end up arising. I end up thinking of all the other things we went through and all those other feelings that follow you down. I think of the times you made me mad with myself and with you, when you called me crazy for assuming something that in the end was actually true. I remember all the things you said and how much you screwed me over when I needed you the most. I remember your alcohol scenes and all those times I had to literally lift you from the floor while you scream nasty things to me. I think of the times my mom got sick and you talked crap about it with your friends just to be more of the man you're not. I remember falling asleep on pillows stained with tears while you drink yourself to death on the first floor on "our vacations"; or the time you left me alone at an unknown city at 4am on a parking lot just to buy cigarettes out of anxiety. I remember skipping classes because you're sad and alone, and your parents split and somebody's gotta go make sure you don't drown in alcohol. I remember teaching you how to do stuff you'd eventually end up use to flirt around with other girls, while I'm away working so we can go out because you've got no pennies on your pockets and no job of your own. I remember trying to talk sense to you, clinging to something and fighting for the good side you have, because there is one, you just don't use it very often. I tried so hard to rescue you from the demons, I wanted to save you from the pit you laid in, holding to you even on your darkest days, holding to you when the whole world knew you'd never come out. I believed in you blindly. Because if I couldn't save you, I couldn't have any hopes left for myself. But you don't want to be saved. You seem to enjoy the pit a lot, you seem to enjoy the lie you live or the way you fool everybody, even yourself sometimes. And I just can't even stand the thought of it. I can't even stand the thought of being near you anymore. All those tears, all those times... just to see you laugh at my efforts over and over. Just to hear your drunken voice call me a crazy bitch at the end of the day.
Just to feel all alone and rotten with you.
Thanks, but no thanks.