I listen to your old voicemails before I go to sleep because I want to remember the way your voice sounded when you loved me. I keep having these dreams about you that cut deeper than anything because even in moments that I’m not aware — you’re still there. I hate you and I love you and I hate you but hate is just a repressed form of love. I often get so wrapped up in the thought of you that I think I might’ve made you up. You seem so intangible — like a blur of a memory. I think, too often and too much about "us" and what that even means to me. I think I'm probably a chore for you. Something that you entertain because you feel a responsibility for or maybe you pity me so you answer my calls. This hurts worse then if you were to not answer at all. I wonder why I feel so debilitatingly in love with this person who seemingly feels nothing at all and if there’s a switch that I can turn it off with. I wish I felt numb like you. I wish I could go one second without obsessing over the thought of you. I wish every time I heard the doorbell ring I didn’t get a rush of nervous energy at the thought that it could be you or when I look out the window I wasn’t desparately trying to picture the way your car looked in front of my house. I wish I wasn't clinging to a time when your name brought me immeasurable joy or trying to remember the way the light hit your face or the way your arms felt around my waist. I wish I wasn't always searching for you in everything like a lost child — searching for you in places I know you'll never be. I wish I didn't panic at the thought of losing memories or the way you smell or the face you make when you concentrate. I wish the urge to see you and to call you didn't feel like something I'm not supposed to need. And I wish my heart didn’t leap out of my chest anytime I wondered about who’s getting the affection that I desperately miss. Most of all, I wish I just felt okay even if for a day.