Modern relationships are so complicated and confusing. I miss you, but sometimes I feel like it's silly to because we were never officially "dating." But we did everything that couples do, minus the commitment, and that's the problem with the way our generation dates.

Missing someone and wanting them back are two very different things.

The truth is, I still think about you. I didn't at first. When I ended things, I felt incredibly confident in my decision, emboldened by it even. But now I find my thoughts drifting to you late at night or when I've had too many glasses of wine. I don't like to talk about it much because I know people will think I'm being dramatic, and maybe I am.

But I don't think a lack of labels should invalidate feelings.

Last night, I thought about the way you spread butter on toast. I'd always complain that you needed to put more and we'd fight in the kitchen until you finally gave in, or when the bread hit the floor and we'd stare at it in stunned silence before bursting out laughing.

I thought about your blue eyes as they gazed at me over the rim of your favorite coffee cup. I thought about the way you'd light up as you told me about a book you loved and how you'd hug me from behind and refuse to let go until I promised to stay just a little longer.

I thought about your muscular arms wrapped around me and your head nestled in the back of my hair as we slept peacefully under the faded Christmas lights that hung over your bed. You looked so perfect bathed in their pink glow.

We had a connection, and there's really no point in denying that, despite our brief "hang out" of three months.

I didn't need to define it, but I almost wished we had just so that it wouldn't have ended so callously and in such an anti-climactic way. Feelings don't always grasp the concept of time, nor do they understand labels.

Despite all the great things about you, your lack of enthusiasm was astounding. You did plenty of nice things for me, but there was always an underlying nonchalance to your actions like you really didn't care if I stayed or went. I was the one doing all the heavy lifting, and you never seemed particularly eager to see me or to take me out to do anything fun.

When I realized it was only me pushing everything forward, something inside of me just felt gross.

You once said to me, regarding your job, "I decided I wouldn't settle for less. And when I put my foot down and decided that this is all I'll accept, that's what I got." I thought about taking this advice to heart and turning it back on you. If I really desired more, then why didn't I give an ultimatum? I'm not sure why, but I never did.

Instead, I sent you "I'm done" in a short and sickeningly green text, thanks to your Android.

Maybe it was the wrong move, but your response proved that I was right about you. Because even though it was me who canceled our final plans, who sent that last careless text, it was you who just didn't respond, making you the winner in the toxic game that you'd set out for us. You could've had me back if you had fought for me, but I wasn't worth that to you.

I know I'm bound to see you at the places I love most — bookstores, quirky coffee shops, open mic nights and writers' events we talked about going to together. I wish we weren't so alike. I'll look at you and miss the feel of your sharp, stubbled jaw and maybe envy a girl you have hanging on your shoulder. But I won't want you back. I won't want that carelessness, that pretentious attitude, and abhorrent laziness.

The truth is, you're a good memory, but you're nothing to me. Not even an ex.

Is that supposed to make it easier?

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