Whining about you

I don’t like thinking about you all the time.

You, and your black leather vest with studded points on it,

sideswept bangs underneath a black baseball cap.

How did you manage to embody this entire genre of music and life?

And why, why do I think about you?

I dislike it.

Ever since I shared too much of my life with you, too much of my pain and confusion, you’ve increased it.

You discovered too much, and so you ran away.

I should have expected it.

I deserved it…it’s what I did to someone else.

but it hurts.

I miss your secondhand smoke and off tune singing.

I miss your crazy lust for life.

I miss your musical genius and openness to sharing it with someone completely out of the loop.

I miss feeling like I was in the loop with you.

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