I won’t tell you I love you.
Because Love is supposed to make people happy; it’s supposed to make poets write of happiness and flowers in field and music and the warmth of a close body next to one.
Instead I’ll tell you I want to miss you.
Because missing you is everything. Missing you means we’ve been together, we’ve done things together that are to be missed. But we’ve never been together, and we’ve never held the umbrella together to keep ourselves dry nor did you assure me you’ll stay. No, we’ve never done those.
That’s why I want to miss you. I want to feel time cheating on us for running so fast. I want to see sunsets become sunrise, and stars become plain blue sky. I want to miss you, because that would mean we’ve been together. That would mean the world to me.
No matter if I live with the past. I’ll stay there, with my memories of us. Alone, and forever missing you.