I miss you for so many little things

I miss you. I miss our giggles, until I have a stomach ache. Your way of looking at me out of the corner of my eye, of smiling and answering “nothing” when I ask you what I am thinking about.

I miss the texts that you sent me every day at 5 p.m., with simple words: “Hi, honey”. These two words instantly gave me butterflies in my stomach and made me want your lips against mine.

I miss the way we communicated. I miss saying to someone at the bar, “Sorry, I’m caught” and watching you say it. I miss your way of kissing, even when I had the flu. And say “I don’t care, I’ll kiss you all day if I could” when I apologized for that.

Most of the time we miss our way of kissing in private, as if we were something coveted, too good for others to see. I miss your smile against my lips when you kiss. Let me tell you how happy you are to see me when I come into your apartment and how upset you are when I can’t see you.

I miss you calling me just to talk, just to know how I’m doing. I miss you and I miss the fact that you make fun of yourself for your premature baldness. I miss hearing your friends tell me that you never talked about a girl like you talk about me. And I miss bringing cookies and milk to you and your friends just because I want to.

I miss your friends persuading me to go out with you, but being the one who convinces me that I made the right choice. I miss my first weird meeting where you didn’t bend over to kiss me to say goodbye.

And I miss the happiness of having done it. Your way of taking my hand and pulling me to kiss you, hugging me so hard that I want it to last forever. And when I asked you if you were happy and you said to me, “You make me happy.”

Above all, I miss the person who showed me that I had made him happy, not the one who said it only because I asked him. The one who couldn’t wait to be Thursday night so we could spend the night together. The you who came after class just for 45 minutes because it was worth spending time together, even if it was a short time. The one who was proud to have me by your side.

Not the you who answered me in a half-word when we spoke, if we spoke. Or the you who didn’t even offer to pay for me when we went to dinner. Or the you who filled my head and my heart with vain promises. I do not regret the you who told me that we were “nothing”.

Or the you who made me cry because I was reluctant to leave you because the you I met first was the one I wanted to be with, not the one you had become. I miss you who stopped trying, who didn’t fight for us. I miss you who let me go a little too easily.

Or the you who kissed another girl like he never kissed me before my eyes. Or the unresponsive you now when I ask “how’s life?” I don’t miss you, you who broke me. I miss the old you. I miss you with whom I fell madly in love, so different from the one with whom I broke up.