On a random day in June. Sometimes I really miss you. I’m angry still, and a bit jealous, but mostly it fades to disappointment. There’s something about you. There was something about you when I met you, and now, after everything, that something- whatever it is- is still there. I wish things were different. I console myself with what I told you last summer: that if we’re meant to be together, we’ll fall back together. I sounded so confident. Sometimes I really miss you, and I wonder if you ever miss me.