I miss going to PD-2, seeing you finish a trailer, you’d see me and know the night’s almost done.
I miss us walking down the hub, right beside me, like I am your pride.
I miss how we’d leave the building, tired, overworked, the rain starting, our footsteps paced, steady—completely disregarding the water washing us.
I miss sitting in the car with you, our day at work , we vented, the laughter, the anger.
I miss how you’d change the stations, trying to find a song, success or failure, we still have our voices, we could talk the entire trip through, and it not be enough time.
I miss you walking into Fred Meyer’s with me, how you walked next to me, you’d help me find something to eat, once, you bought me soup, because I had nothing,
I miss how, even though I live two blocks from the store, you’d still drive me up to the staircase leading to my apartment.
I miss you smiling, telling me goodnight, “I’ll see you tomorrow”.
I miss that despite it never being said aloud, a guarantee, there’s always this tomorrow.
Six months, half of a fucking year has passed, and I think I’m actually crazy.
I miss you.
I fucking miss you.
I wish I could be good enough.
Because I can’t figure out, why it still hurts, like this.
Could you just notice me? Remember that I still exist, remember that I can’t fucking not care for you, that I can’t fucking not love you?