I still miss you.

Sometimes I awake in the morning to thoughts of you still being beside me and hear the sound of your voice whispering that nickname you used to have. Days I didn't care that I hated my job or lack of direction because you didn't care about those things either; days I'd forget about all of it when I watched you sleep or looked into your eyes when you said something inane and we'd both laugh at it for no reason we could readily understand.

I hate that you have the life that I wanted with you with someone else but I'm glad you're so far away. I hate that you don't seem happy and some part of me still feels compelled to seek you out and rectify it despite it no longer being my problem.

I loathe that so many years later the thought of you writhing in my sheets still turns me on in ways other women haven't when they were doing so.

I pray that someone will someday replace you, but I don't honestly believe it will ever happen.

I love me now, but I'm ashamed of where I am still, and ashamed moreso of my fear of changing it. You showed me there was no reason to be afraid; you gave me reason to want more out of life than I had, and you took both of those with you when you left.

blah blah wah wah whatever