Do you remember when you were talking about the girlfriends you had after we stopped talking? I keep replaying the awful pit deep inside my stomach, when I could hear the faintest smile in your voice as you recalled the one you said looked like me, how you called her pretty.

Maybe you were trying to say, that you thought she was gorgeous because she looked like me, maybe you meant that it was a better version of me. It doesn’t matter anymore, but I remember asking if maybe you were only talking to me because you missed her. I hate the jealousy I felt, I hate the possessiveness I feel for you, because I’m the reason you’re unhappy. I hate everything about what I am for you. I hate you for that, for having met me, for daring to even like me once before. I hope you don’t love me, and it’s such a strange thing to say when it’s all I want.

It’s been cold outside. I deserve it, to sleep in the snow. It calms the burning in my throat when all I can do is whisper your name and pretend you’re there to hug me. I try not to reach out when it’s what I want the most, I watch you and your family and I desperately wish I would have never gone to meet you. I look at the messages of you saying you love me, and cry, because I don’t deserve the kindness you gave me. I look at the ones where I’m your baby and I will be forever, and I pray that you’ve taken back those words because you shouldn’t have to be stuck with me as your miserable shadow. It stings to cry and it stings to miss you, but I’ll live with the ache. You were my Namgyu, t shirt skirt and all.