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First I wear the clothes you let me have of yours. They don't smell like you anymore. They smell like me now. I don't know how I feel about this. I miss you but there has to be some sort of metaphor in your hoodies smelling like me.
Next, I call my best friend. I wait to tell her why I really called and talk about other things with her. And when the conversation dries up I tell her how long it has been since I heard from you. She tells me that I probably won't hear from you, at least for a while. I don't say anything else about it.
And so then I wonder; I wonder if you lied. If you cared. I wonder if I was right. And if I was right, could I hate you? Would it be possible?
But most of all I wonder, if I do see you again, will you still love me? Will you move on and decide yourself defeated? Will you find something easier and realize that I am in no way worth this? That I am not worth the pain it will cause you to love me?
And that truly is terrifying.
I also wear clothes I know you would like on me. Like off the off shoulder dresses and yoga pants.
I write messages for you on blogs and websites and hope to god you read them.
I then listen to sad country music for 10 hours and attempt to finish tasks but never really do because I just cry every 15 minutes.
Then I stress over the fact that I was convinced I never would lose you. But I haven't heard from you and some days I feel like everyone has given up on us. I was so sure that no one could ever break us apart. But here we are now; 3 days in and no word from you. Missing you makes me feel like I am peeling pieces of myself away.
The next thing I do is remember. I remember our adventures in the Pet store and the Korean grocery store. I remember when we looked at strange Korean items and I prayed that you would hold my hand, as corny as that sounds. I remember going to the movies that Sunday after that. I had my first kiss and after I was terrified. But even then I couldn't help but bring my jacket to my face smell your cologne lingering.
I remember my cousin died 2 days later. And you were the first person I went to. I have never gone to a boy for emotional support. Well, except you.
I remember you teaching my little brothers to roller skate and exploring your grandparents' backyard. I also remember beating your ass at the claw machine games and running around the mall like idiots.
I remember meeting your grandparents and family. I thought maybe I had found an intact family and someplace to belong, but I guess not. I shouldn't expect that from anyone.
I remember how your voice sounds when you try to calm me down when you wake up, and when you're sleepy.
I remember the first time I said, "I love you." It was long after you said it. There was a storm outside and we were sitting on your couch. You hate storms. You told me you loved me and I said it back for the first time. I said it in a whisper and you asked me to repeat it. I knew you heard me, but I said it again anyway. You buried your face in my neck and hugged me. I said it again and again after that and even now; I love you. And I mean it.