i miss you the same way that i miss being six years old, a bitter sort of nostalgia, with the knowledge that it will never come back.
remembering you feels like a papercut, that is why i burned the books you gave me and donated the clothes, i do not want the reminders to be piled in the corners of my room.
i changed bedrooms, i now sleep in a bed you’ve never touched
it is 12pm on a wednesday and i am not the same person i was four wednesdays ago, i am no longer waiting for you to love me
you do not love me, i do not love you
i miss being a child, but i would never go back - growing up was too painful.
it is the same with us"
i am alone in a bedroom i cant even picture you in