I could feel you.
I could taste you on my lips.
I could hear every lie as truth.

I could love you.

Passion filled every word and every thought.
Filled every caress I imagined.

Imagined.
Pictured.
Dreamed of.

Dream. You were the worst kind of dream.

I could hate you; I do.
I could move on.
I could miss you nonetheless; I do.

I do.