I guess I hate summer days,
where families gather around a grill and laugh over clinging bottles of beer.
I hate the way the empty seat looks next to me,
mocking at my soul, laughing, taunting me, reminding me that I hurt you.

Not even a cup of coffee or a splash of sugar can fix the wounds I gave to you.
This is my apology, my first spoken recognition that I not only miss you,
but your heart was too big for me to hold,
you wanted to hold me so tight every sleepless night
and I needed you to let me go.

I hated the cage you created with your arms every night,
you convinced me that the constant texts and calls were love.
That the Skype talks we had every night an ocean away from each other weren’t taking time from my family,
but that I was devoting my time to you.
I was being true to the salvation of my boredom.

I brought the cage of your arms with me to college,
as I put my ring on the finger that shows engagement so boys would step away,
I created a force field for you so that you could sleep easier at night,
even though  I was only ninety miles away.

I ******* hate these summer days,
I became so accustom to your flesh cage that without the rails in front of my face,
I forgot what happiness was supposed to be like without your rails.
Home is not this place anymore,
your presence infected the streets and I no longer see love and happiness,
just broken memories with your smile plastered on every street corner.