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I do not miss you. Either of you.
I miss the way I felt when you were around.
I miss the way you looked at me.
I miss the way the love flowed so freely, a river crashing next to its twin, trust.
I miss who I was at various points in time, points where I was also with you.
Same for who I thought I was, thought I would become.
I miss how easily it happened, meeting on NYE, calling on the 12th, coming to your place on the 15th, and instantly, totally in love. Or, a few years later, suddenly realizing I was attracted to you in February, and getting what I wanted, you, in April.
I miss how pure and righteous those fires burned within my chest. Funeral pyres for my lonesomeness, my hopelessness. Building shrines to mortals, inside my rib cage, too close to the marshmallow of my heart. Blooming like a flower with your attention, your adoration, your promises.
Letting my sense of romance trump all common sense, I wired dynamite inside nests of barbed wire, poison-filled flasks contained in Rube Goldberg machines. Designed to explode and ruin, spill and contaminate, if the solar panels didn't absorb enough of your sunlight to sustain my blooms. I thought I'd rather die than lose you. Then I pushed one of you away, and drove the other to pushing me away for the sake of basic sanity.
The supports blew, the poisons dripped, but I didn't die. Turns out suicide isn't my style, even when each waking moment is a hell of withdrawal from street and brain chemicals.
Cracked ribs and a hollowed heart. I thought I could just... pretend it hadn't happened. Fall in love with someone else, and not feel the burn of the poison. I was very foolish. And there are things wrong with me. Were more, back then.
I don't miss you. I miss not being poisoned by my own actions. I miss having someone to suck the poison out, or just effortlessly remove every molecule of it, by existing at my side. These were the worst times, but not the first.
I don't miss you. I don't. One of you frankly annoys the shit out of me, that's why I pushed you away in the first place. And the other... I doubt I could meet your eyes, after what we did to each other. Dead dreams, bad credit, buried ashes.
I miss the eternal sunshine, the strengthened spine that comes with adoring someone who adores me in return.
I miss love like summer bonfires, like backseat assignations. Love that kept us warm in the January cold, that lit the dark summer nights alongside the moon. Indulgent twists of the mouth, naked eyes, masks dropped and forgotten.