Actually, I don’t miss you at all.

I don’t miss you.

I like the idea of missing you.

I like holding onto the pain of your absence.

I hate that you don’t mean anything to me anymore.

I hate that I see your face and see someone I don’t know.

Someone I never knew as much as I thought to begin with.

I keep trying to force myself to miss you.

To feel something for you, but in reality, I don’t feel anything anymore.

I keep stalking your pages and looking at our old pictures, trying to break my heart again.

To feel something, anything for you, again.

Because feeling nothing for you feels worse.

I can finally let you go.

For real this time.