I miss you
I miss you, but I don’t think you miss me. I miss your messages like they were air itself, like my day only started once your name appeared on my screen. I love when you ask me how I am, even if it’s just once, even if it’s small and casual and probably means nothing to you. But why does it always feel like you don’t really care?
I’m not asking to be your favorite person.
I’m not asking to be the center of your world.
I just want to feel important to you, even a little.
Even enough for you to think of me without me having to beg for your attention first.
Sometimes I feel stupid for caring this much.
Because every little thing you do matters to me, while I’m not even sure if I cross your mind at all. And maybe that’s what hurts the most: loving someone quietly while feeling yourself slowly disappear in their eyes.
I wish you knew how happy I get over the smallest things.
A text from you. A question about my day. You remembering something I told you weeks ago. Maybe for you it’s nothing.
But for me, it’s everything.