I really don't miss you, I swear

Iím tired of writing tales of longing

I hate how I miss you
miss him
miss her
miss myself

Like yesterday was better
because itís tinged
in the rose-light of memories
and smoke

I miss how everything used to be easy
how weíd take long drives to no where
just because
like every street and avenue
was an adventure waiting to happen

I miss how weíd talk for hours
stay up all night if we wanted to
discussing poetry and philosophy
with no thought of tomorrowís hangover

I miss banning you from playing
shit music on my stereo
fighting over the CDís
after youíd put it on it anyway
the moment I walked out of the room

I miss how you used to get high in my bathroom
I miss how Iíd pretend not to notice
the track marks on the back of your legs
because I was too stoned to fight
and smoking up didnít make me any less
of a hypocrite when you worshipped the needle
and I worshipped the bong

I miss the way youíd say
I wrote the things you didnít know how to say
like my hand was a mouthpiece to your soul

But letís be honest here
the way things were
arenít as good as I remember them

Because I donít miss
your long silences
that fucked with my head
because you couldnít find the words
to fill the void of my insecurities

I donít miss
the way youíd just leave
take off for months at a time
without so much as a ďsee you laterĒ
rocking up at my door like
time was meaningless
and we could pick up where we left off
(though most of the time we could)

I donít miss your violence
my head still filled with memories
of the day I had to call the cops
because you took one too many drugs
and reality bent so far back it snapped
in two, and you couldnít tell
the sky from the ocean anymore
with birds in your head and demons in your bed

So yeah, Iím tired of writing tales of longing
after Iíd promised myself
you were dead and gone
before you show up all smiles
and compliments and sanity
recognising me under the late night shadows
of a street corner after Iíd run to the shops
for cigarettes
like the universe wasnít quite done with us yet

And now Iím falling all over myself
wondering if you remember how much I loved you
as I wait for a text that never comes
after I gave in and messaged you
asking if maybe we could catch up
sometime soon

© Indie Adams 2015
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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ImperfectedStone DystopianMelody audioharleea
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