I miss you.
And this time, I don't mean I miss fucking you hard. This time, I mean those words just the way they are.
I remember telling it for the first time the day after our first night together. I missed you, and I admit, I meant I missed your hands on my nape, your lips on my neck, your voice when you moan, the slow dancing of your breast, the view of your rocking butt, and the warm feeling when I'm inside you. I missed you as an asshole but you said it back to me, and I guessed you meant it too like I did.
"I misd yoi," you drunk-texted me one time. And it happened not just once. Always. You only told me you miss me everytime you were drunk... and maybe horny too. You'd sent me selfies of your sleepy face because you knew it would turn me on, and goddamn it, I couldn't let anyone else take you home.
We spent nights, and sometimes days, turning our I-miss-you's into ah's and oh's, and curses that meant we were in heaven. I claimed you mine over and over again and you screamed the sexiest yes I've ever heard. You were so good in bed, and I wondered how many fuck buddies did you have before me. Of course, I never asked that stupid question. I didn't want to ruin our post-orgasm kisses and breathless spoonings. I didn't care anyway as long as I had the best sex with you. Only you.
I miss you. If only three months ago I told you I meant it just the way they were, you would've stayed. If only I realized much earlier that my longing wasn't just about you on bended knees with your fat ass in front of me, you might still be here tonight. If only I admitted too soon that I was not anymore having sex to forget someone; that you were more than a fuck buddy; that you were so much better than the girl I used to love, maybe I wouldn't be crying over the asshole kind of I-miss-you's and the plain and sincere ones.
I miss you, my dirty little slut. Pleasure used to be just getting high with orgasm but with you, it was more than that. Pleasure with you includes listening to the summary of your favorite romance novels and you'd look up to the sky like you're remembering something that happened in your past life. Pleasure is seeing you with eyes closed and slow-dancing to the beat of your favorite pop songs, or feeling the warmth of your embrace after my dad tells me I am useless, or hearing your laughter after I crack jokes that only you could understand, or just the little things you do which make me feel like I'm the most insert-adjective-here man in the world.
I was too dumb to realize you loved me. You loved when I was in love with someone else. You loved me when I was using you to move on from a heartbreak. You loved me when I couldn't admit to myself that what we had was not just about getting through the lonely and horny nights. You loved me and I understand that at some point, you had to give up on me. You loved me and now you're gone because I let you slip away.
I miss you, and I hope you'll know that this time, I miss you also means I love you.