I’ve been writing and deleting this text to you for a long time.

I want to text you and tell you I’ve been thinking about you. But it wouldn’t change things. Not one single thing.

I want to text you and tell you I miss you. But then I’d be lying.

Truth is, I don’t miss you. I miss the person you used to be. I miss the friend you used to mean to me. I miss the way I loved you. I miss the memory of you. Of us.

Ok. I’m not lying. I hella miss you.

And I want to text you and ask how you are, but I can’t even bring myself to be ok with that answer. If you’re doing well, it’ll hurt too much knowing you’re doing well without me. If life isn’t treating you the way it should, I’ll somehow find that to be my fault, too.

I want to text you when something reminds me of you. But if I did that, I’d be texting you all the time because you. Are. Fucking. Everywhere.

I want to text you and remind you how much I still love you. Problem is, I can barely admit that to myself.

Funny how someone can go from being your best friend to being just “someone you used to know.”

So I just don’t text you at all. Because if I don’t text you how much I miss you, maybe I won’t have to hear how much you don’t miss me.