i miss:

your chicken legs in your dumb skinny jeans
standing like a little boy instead of a boy months away from 19

your dry processed hair

the way you speak like you own the world and your casual use of offensive terms
yo faggot nigs fk u

the way things are a hundred times more clear when you explain them

you complaining about your piercing infection

afternoons where you take a pen from my backpack and scrawl illegible words onto my sketchbook
sometimes a drawing, also indecipherable

your taste in music that i cannot place into any category but miscellaneous
and strangely fitting of your slouched shoulders and straight face

high-tops that would make anyone else look like a douchebag but on you, an exception

advice a big brother would give, reasoning that doesn't sound right coming from anyone but you

your dry feet and thick flip flops

how you refuse to wear shorts in the heat of summer because you don't want to tan
and instead melt under the sun in black attire

seeing you in the hallway, knowing there will always be more time to talk later if i'm rushing to a class

the way your face lights up when you see a friend, the way your pace quickens until your shoulder bumps into mine

how i can never tell when you're joking or being serious

the way your words fill up the air when i have no idea what to say

hearing your voice

seeing you

how you pretend, like the world depends on this, that you are a big troll but instead you are
one of the most considerate people i know

when you buy me ice cream from mcdonald's

walking with you and passing by glass, seeing our reflection and solidifying the concept of friendship in my head

your stories of stupid first experiences and dumb friends: the first time you got drunk, the first and only time you tried sheesha, when your best friend got drunk on his 18th birthday and passed out and woke up with rug burn on his face

how you play with my hair
and my hands

the way you push me along when we walk if i'm going too slow and you want to get somewhere

trying each other's milkshakes from peter's


i am tired of pretending not to miss you.