Shame on me for feeling a single, regretful ounce of guilt. I was so convinced that I was such a horrible person for not thinking about you 25/7, while you were halfway around the overly populated Earth surrounded by guy-thirsty virgins who got down on their knees at your mere presence. Is it really a fault of mine that I have some self-respect?
"You didn't email me for 6 months, 6 months!"
Oh, how I would love to shut your pretty fucking mouth just so you would fucking listen; why do you never fucking listen? I was so, so sure you would put me at ease with myself until the day my heart stopped beating...of natural causes. You should have been the one scared I was going to find somebody else in the Chicagoland area-population 11 or so million. What are the odds that not one replaced you? I bit more at my fingernails than at my veggie burgers... I don't know how I knew something was wrong, but I was always on edge. I did email you, you liar, you hypocrite, you're the one always saying you don't remember anything, so how the fuck are you going to remember how long I went without emailing you?
"Hey, azizam, I haven't heard from you in a while, what's up? I miss you. I love you, Neda."
Don't remember that? I remember every night I cried myself to sleep, the misery I felt, how I would so much rather choke in my own pathetic tears than be so far from the one who made me forget my demons and the people who wronged me, the one who had found a new girlfriend and was too afraid to own up to it. I knew you were spending your time either texting her or meeting up to make out, while I sat in my room, alone, listening to old Death Cab For Cutie.
"You look hot," you say, when we see each other again. New hairstyle, new heartbreak.
You look at me the way you used to look at me, like you have no idea of the effect it has on me. I wish I could wake up from this, because even when a new, beautiful boy tells me he likes me, and asks whether I have a boyfriend, I'm over the moon, but you have to go and be a fucking asshole to me and reintroduce the realm of tears at a time when I thought the new, dimpley Cutie would make the smile on my face genuine for once. It's not like you can say you're truly happy, anyway. Is that what you're trying to say when you show me pictures of a bleeding guy, and a girl walking away with his heart like it's not exactly what I'm feeling? I know you know better, because when I look at you with heartache in my eyes, you ask what's wrong. And when I say, "Nothing," you say softly that my looks have meaning.
Honey, I want to burn straight through to your optic nerve with a look so intense you'll want to cry, except I'll be the one with a runny nose and a muffled voice. I miss your love, and the way you used to hold me, and how you stared at me for so long the green specks in your eyes danced at me. Do you remember all those nights we stayed up? I was so happy around you that sleep didn't matter, dreams became reality, reality more enjoyable than my dreams.
After our fall out, I began having dreams of my own death, like my mind thought it was funny, playing that joke on me, almost convincing me it was finally all over, only to wake up to the sad, blue walls of my bedroom. Even my dreams are mocking me. It's not love without a little heartache, I understand that, believe me, but this is just life ridiculing me.
You were so...everything. You were everything. You loved me. Treated me like I was a one-of-a-kind.
Was I? Am I?
I always want to go faster into the future, always anticipating the possibility of something good happening, but no matter how far time takes me, I live in my memories. The past was a better time, always will be. I was just wrong for being impatient, trusting, loving, warm, forgiving, accepting, suspicious, cooky, crazy, wrong for being myself.
I miss you. Shame on me.