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.