I love her

Just a little something

I sometimes think about you
About how we use to be, what we use to be. Sometimes it makes me regret ever meeting you. Other times I'm happy that I met you, that I spent those wonderful years with you by my side.
We would play stupid games outside, not even caring about the things online. When we went back inside at the end of the day we would sit and read together or watch cheesy movies, always together. We would then go to sleep, both of us in my bed. I remember one night, I stayed up a bit longer than you, reading some stupid book that I probably still have, you were asleep, cuddling with my arm. But as I put that book back on my table, I guess I disturbed you, as you turned around and let go of my arm. I remember wishing that you would come back, and grab my arm again, maybe properly cuddling me, but that never happened.
I've wrote so many of these, memories I guess you'd call them, I'd write about you and I, how we use to be, what we use to be, wishing we could be that again. I guess it just wasn't meant for us. I told you that I was still in love with you not too long ago, you didn't care. Maybe it's because you don't feel the same anymore, maybe you never felt the same. You told me you have a boyfriend, even though not too long before that you told me you were confused about your sexuality, that you were attracted to girls as well. I thought maybe then I had a chance. But I guess not. I guess on a lot of things don't I? Like I guess I've always loved you, I guess you never loved me back. Maybe that's just me being paranoid. Maybe it's me being real.
Sometimes I wonder what I'm even saying. Maybe I don't miss you, maybe I miss what we had. But who wouldn't? Who wouldn't miss what we had and who wouldn't miss you? It's been over 5 years and I still miss you. Remember when you took me to church with you? I wore your scarf and you wore my beanie. You stole it after that, that's okay cause I stole your scarf. I still have it. Along with all the beanies of yours. I hope you still have all the things of mine that you stole. If not that's fine. I would understand.
It's strange how I'm typing this, thinking that you'd read it. Maybe you will one day, who knows. Maybe we will end up back together. Though I can only dream.
I dream about you sometimes. Other times I have a nightmare, and you're in it, and maybe you've been my nightmare once or twice. But that's okay, I still cherish it.
I think about you a lot. Sometimes more than others, though it's mainly at night as that's where I have more time to myself, well, I guess I always have time to myself seeing as I do nothing all day. I think about you, us, what we use to be. I miss us. I miss you. But you already know that. I've wrote books about you, more than one, maybe 3, 4. I'm not sure anymore. All I know is that I miss you, a lot more than I should.