I miss the smoke. I miss your backyard and fire pit. I miss being part of the old crew, when things were relatively peaceful, and the biggest thing we had to fret was checking to make sure no phone was in our pocket before being thrown into a pool. I miss the late-night talks and walks. And the trying to get drunk, but being too worried about her doing something incredibly stupid to let myself go.
In a sick way, I miss wanting you, and wondering when the next time you’d randomly pop into my life would be. I miss honeysuckles.
I miss all those times in the auditorium, every single goddamn one. I miss having those things to be excited for everyday. I miss the smell of wood, and instrument metal. I miss the hot sun, and sore calves.
I miss the great hugs. I miss the night air that made anything feel possible and infinite.

You know what? Forget missing things. I can’t change what happened, and what didn’t. All I really wanted to say was that I miss ficlets, but all that happened was that I wasted one. Lo siento.