My problem is that I miss things. I miss everything currently not in the possession of when I want it. I miss him. And him, and him, and it, and my cat that died in August. I miss my friend, my friendships when they meant something to more than just me. Not being employed. Not having a boyfriend, wanting a boyfriend that would go to ends of the world for me. Believing in love childishly, having the ambitions not washed away by the unsuccessful people around me. I miss the feeling I got that day we went for breakfast before school one morning, such a careless, fun, unfamiliar feeling that describing can do no justice against. I sit in class or at home or at a stop light and I start to miss your presence next to me. Just that certain smell of you anywhere can send me places you couldn't grasp existing; the way you hold me in any form of the matter still lingers on my skin as your ghost when you leave. I feel you here when you aren't, much like a numb feeling, as if my body knows something isn't right, something is missing. There are a million things I could say I miss. The past, my memories, are hard to forget. They find a way to hide in small corners of my mind, to come out when they know I am especially vulnerable. I'm weak and small disguised by a deceptive body, tormented of each surfacing memory.