I think I shouldn't miss you, given how you treated me, given how you tried so hard not to miss me, that you can't even admit you were attached--and maybe have extricated yourself as quickly... It's not worth it to miss you. When will you change? Do I even respect myself?
But all the same I want to tell you that I couldn't stop staring at your knees when you were wearing shorts on the bus home. I miss your knees! And I think I may have decided I loved you when I was drunk. And there were countless times I was too angry at you to tell, and there is a pile of letters to you still growing I will never send. I can't debate with anyone the same way I can with you. Despite it all, with you I feel more secure. And although I botched my drawing of you because I felt too awkward to look, I will constantly have this image of you burnt into my brain, you are the one that inspired the whole project: a side view, you smiling, a corner of your mouth up in that way, eyes crinkled in stubborn laughter, that way that says this is just the way things are, that you soak in life just this way through a gin-tinged haze and enjoy it just so much that you'd never turn around and look at me, and when you kissed me it'd be just another way you'd slip through my fingers.
That smile is so unreachable.