What I miss most

I don't love him the same way.

We are happier apart.

I miss falling asleep next to him.

But I don't miss his big, unexecuted ideas. I don't miss feeling scared and worried all of the time. I don't miss getting mad over petty stuff. I don't miss feeling jealous for no good reason. I don't miss being paranoid of being left. I don't miss feeling like we were just getting by. I don't miss feeling like I couldn't help him.

I saw him tonight. For the first time in eight weeks, for the first time since we went on a picnic that ended our relationship. Since I couldn't stop crying and telling him to get out of my car, he ruined my life, I hated him. Since I didn't know I could hurt like that. Hate someone like that. Love someone like that.

I saw him to give him clothes I ended up with from Chicago. I only purposely packed some of them. And wore others. So. Well. I finally did laundry yesterday and was folding his shirts and thought, I never want to do this again. So I texted him and asked if I could drop off his clothes, in lieu of my initial thought to just drop them off outside his house and run.

I went and saw him and felt like I would be sick from nerves, I didn't want to open a Pandora's box of him. I didn't want to see his clothes in my laundry anymore. I didn't want to see him. I know us.

And it turns out I love him in a different way. We held each other for a long time. I kissed his neck and felt like nothing had changed, he was just the same. Felt silly for entertaining other men. Put my hands on the small of his back and felt home. Thought If only we could just have this part, this and finding new sketchy restaurants and laughing about most things. We used to be that way. Until we loved each other.