It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen you. It’s been two weeks since I had the conversation with you. And I’m okay with it. I don’t check your stuff anymore except for in passing when I’m really bored and making sure everyone I’ve ever loved is alive. I don’t worry about you. I don’t worry about whether or not you’re going to call and what I’m going to say because it’s a non-issue. You’re not going to call.

And I’m okay with that.

But today I woke up and for some reason I missed you. Not in the “oh, I want you back” kind of way, or the “what we could have had would have been great” kind of way.

More like, you were my first real friend in Michigan. I memorized the roads to take to your house in different directions, timing it perfectly to get to work on time. I miss you in the way where if someone brings up the mall where you live, I get a stab for a moment. I miss you in the way that I really wish we were friends. Just friends. Only friends.

I miss you in the way that I wish we had only been friends, because then I wouldn’t miss you.

I guess I just don’t understand where it came from because I’ve been completely fine the past couple weeks. After I started feeling better, my heart kind of healed, too. The first week was a little rough, but after that, I was fine. So, why now?

Whatever, though. There’s no way for me to talk to you and there’s no way you’ll talk to me, so this missing you will go away by the time I get to work today. Fleeting and passing, kind of like us.