We all make the mistake of believing that we will be missed at least once. You are the furthest thing from perfect, but I was sure you were perfect for me. I believed so genuinely that those days would last forever, that we would continue to live off sun and dreams and stars and eachother. But that doesn't last because that isn't real. I wanted you to be mine, always and forever. I wanted you to belong to me and to be under my spell, to be wrapped all the way around my finger. I needed you to be protective and mine, always mine. I dreamed of futures that could never really happen and I made up pasts that didn't really exist. When I look back I see you and I as we were, just holding eachother. Just needing eachother and not anything else. That is how I see it, but that's not how it was. We yelled and screamed and pulled eachothers hair. We were jealous and made excuses and we were never enough. We were spontaneous and reckless and dangerous and so, so contained within eachother. We were the length, width, perimeter and area of eachother. You had consumed and I had consumed you. We were eachothers puppets and that was how we loved it. We could pretend and we could play, but we could never 'just be'. We will never 'just be'. We will never have it figured out, we will always be this confused, dizzy, haze of rolled eyes and crossed arms. I thought I was everything, and so did she.