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on night like this, i lay down on my balcony, with half of my body inside. i pretend that i’m somewhere else, like an empty field surround by the nature. or, if i’m being particularly blue, i pretend that this is the rooftop of my apartment, and you’re here with me.
the thing i miss the most is actually the conversation. soft spoken, especially when we reach the witch hour. the vulnerability and honesty, and the way you make me feel like you understand. it’s easy, it always is. effortless. when the morning comes, i always regret those conversations because they make me easier to be read by you. but only for a second. nevertheless, when the night comes and you call, i will always answer.
you actually never promise to always be there, and i never asked you to. i always know that you will be gone by morning, and there will be time when you won’t call when the star shines bright anymore. i always tell myself to never expect, never demand. but still, the disappointment is there when you stop calling.
i didn’t regret anything, i said. it is partially true. the one thing i regret the most is that i cannot look at the starry night the same anymore, because our conversation is always under the night sky. i miss being able to sleep soundly at night without expecting a call from someone who already forgotten me. i miss looking at the stars without remembering you.
(i miss you)
