I think of you fondly.
I love you even now, in a way. How could I do otherwise?
So many memories, so many firsts, were shared with you.
But I foresaw our destination before we'd finished the journey.
I felt our distance increase while we were still ensconsced in each other's embrace.
I mourned us while you still believed we bloomed.
It isn't you I miss, it's the companionship you represented.
It's not your conversation I crave, just an intelligent connection.
It's not your caress I desire, it's the touch of not-me, the breath on my neck, the slide of fingers deep, the fullness of a lover's inward stretch.
Tonight, cold and wrapped within a woolen blanket, I feel lonely.
But I don't miss you.
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