I've been mad for years that you used me. But oh god, I've used you too. I lived vicariously through you, every waking moment. Every drama, teardrop and smile you had in your eyes and on your lips- I wished it was mine. I needed you to prove that life was better, was real. Maybe talking to Jenny was a way to live a piece of it I don't know (and I don't really care about that at this point, either). I used you, sure as you used me. Were we just both users, me your weed and you my meth? Does it make it any better? Or worse? I loved you, very much, and I know a part of you loved me. But that's the thing, the difference- I was your sedative, grounding and calming you. You were my high, every phone call a hit. Tell me, Comrade, are we really so different? Two halves of the yin-yang- you the light, the calm, thoughtful and peaceful, and I the dark- intense, devinly insane as I let every hit and bit of affection you ever showed consume me.
I don't know if "miss" is the right word. We are. And we'll be.