Missed

I really missed you this week. That happens every once and awhile. I wish I could stop it, but every time I think you are gone - somehow you come back. Each time is a little less painful, but each time makes me a little more angry with myself. You were a mistake, a speed bump in my life that should never have happened. Sometimes I try and find you. I quit trying, because it is impossible to find you - and if I did what good would that do? I can't come back to you, I can't go back there. You would laugh in my face if I even tried. You should be smarter than that by now too - smart enough to know that I wouldn't last. Smart enough to know the crap I pulled then would be the same crap I would pull now. The only constant thing in our relationship was the fact that I would be inconsistent. I am too filled with guilt about how I should act that it would never work. The shear fact that I know you and I can never be makes me furious to even remember you. Shit, you were my best friend first and because of what came second I lost that part of you forever, and I can never get it back. I go over that moment a hundred ways. If it hadn't happened then, would it have ever happened? If it had never happened would I be where I am now? Sometimes I think I have grown so much since then, because of us, in spite of us. Sometimes I feel like I am that same person. That same lost person that needed you, and wanted you despite what everyone said. I loved you, something I can't say for many. I wonder if I could honestly say that about any one that came after you. As for them, I think I was using them to prove that I could love someone else - that you weren't my crutch, that you weren't all that I made you out to be in my mind. I know in a few days you will be gone again. I will be fine for quite awhile. I will have my head screwed on straight and know that you and I were not meant for each other for a lot of reasons, and what I make the past out to be in my head is doctored. It glosses over all the bad in you all the bad in me, all the conflict we had, and the fact that we were terrible for one another. But all I see this week is what I chose to remember. The good times. The way you looked at me when I would come in from a terrible day, the way you would laugh at all my jokes - even the ones I know were stupid, the way you knew when I wanted to talk and when I just wanted to sit there with you, the way you always made me feel special, important, funny, smart, and loved. Maybe tomorrow I will remember the way you looked at me when I would hurt you by the things I would say, I will remember the way I stomped on your heart and then wanted you to give it back, I will remember the way you looked at me as I walked away from you the last time. That will remind me why we didn't work, and why this remembering is the dumbest thing I can do in my life. This remembering holds me back from going forward, keeps me from forgiving myself, and keeps me from enjoying a freedom from you.