For some reason I wish you were slightly different & then you’d be perfect for me. I do miss opening my texts with your name staring back at me. & your hugs because really, we’re the ideal height for each other. But I let you go because you weren’t happy enough, and you weren’t smooth enough. You weren’t secure enough, bold enough, driven enough.
You weren’t enough.
& I was spoilt. I wanted you (& every other boy) to alter your ways to fit my every curve. & for that, I am sorry. It is more my loss than it will ever be yours. I am sitting here wishing I gave you more of a chance. One regret; I wrote you off too fast.
Tomorrow, I will resist the urge to trace my fingers across your scars.
