366.

I found pictures of who I used to be. You were there, implicitly. I found pictures of the bookshelf behind the chair in your apartment. You were there, explicitly.

You aren’t here now, but you could be. I wish you would be. I won’t make any effort to make it true, though.

… And I know now that we were always broken. That I was desperately grasping at anything, that you were a predator in waiting. That I wanted to hurt and you wanted to hurt me. That you wanted to hurt and I wanted to hurt someone.

I still do. You still do.

I miss you.