I Miss the Idea of You

Maybe I miss your lovin’—

or maybe I miss

who I was

when it felt like enough.

It’s hard to tell

what part of you stayed

and what part of me

never really left.

Because it wasn’t just you—

it was the way

everything softened

when you were near,

the way the world

felt less heavy

for a while.

Maybe I don’t miss you

the way I think I do.

Maybe I miss

the quiet in my chest

when I didn’t have to question

where I stood.

The way your name

used to feel certain

instead of distant,

instead of something

I turn over in my mind

like it might change shape.

I catch myself sometimes—

reaching for something

that isn’t there anymore,

like memory

still believes

it can touch you.

And maybe

that’s the truth of it—

I don’t miss

what it became.

I miss

what it was

before it broke,

before it turned

into something

I had to let go of.

So yeah—

maybe I miss your lovin’.

Or maybe

I just miss

the version of us

that didn’t know

it wouldn’t last.