memento

I found that little toy you gave me. You know - the inside joke? I sat there and held it and thought of you. Not even you, really, more like memories of the things we did, and the places we went. Meals shared, glasses of wine, laughs shared. I felt sadder by the second because it's all so firmly in the past.

But then I realized I was romanticizing it all: I don't miss you, exactly. I miss the you I thought you were. And that, sadly, never really existed.