Do I Miss You?

Do I Miss You?

By Introverted Yapper / Hazel F.

"Do you miss me?"

You had asked.

"Liar."

you said,

when I equivocated—

"Yes."

The beauty of equivocation is that it does not require lies to deceive.

All it requires is a little misdirection—

evasiveness,

to hide the night's deeds.

I miss the way 

we would talk hours into the night.

I miss the way 

your mom would scold us 

for not working when we should have.

I miss the way 

I could forget all my worries 

when I was with you—

the way 

I didn't fear that the person in front of me 

was going to stab me in the back 

just because I tried to stop them from holding the knife.

Alas, I don't think I ever knew you.

Like a mirror house,

by the time I got out,

I realized I had only been shown what I wanted to see—

been shown my own foolishness gaping at me.

You were never the person I saw in the mirror.

You were always the person who had constructed it

To trick me, to confuse me

Until I left its intricateness.

So yes, I miss you.

I miss the carefree, bubbly version of me

Whose reflection you stole—

so that I was left to stare at a puddle of water 

pooling at the corner of the street,

while the midnight rain tried to soothe me,

mingling with my tears

due to the countenance I saw,

streaked with scars

From the shards of the mirror—

Now broken.

I will look at the rear-view mirror

And say

"What a ride."

It was mirthful while it lasted.

And I wish life weren't a one-way street,

so I could visit your house again.

But maybe there's a reason why,

I was deprived of that supposed privilege

So I sigh—

In relief, in wistfulness, I can't decide.

But I do know

I never again

want to be by your side.