I never thought your existence meant something so much to me until I started missing your holiday texts. Until I look at the pictures of you and I with blurred views because of the waterfalls in my eyes. Maybe this is the time I mourn for your missing, instead of you mourning for me. This is the time where I cared a lot more for you than you did for me, and it’s true that I am bitter. It’s true that I want to fill my cup with hatred and anger because that is the only way that my body will cleanse from your touch. I blame myself for taking you for granted, and never clearing up my views to you of how I felt about her. She never meant anything to me and it was a constant argument of whether she existed in my world or was she only part of yours. I should have given you the reassurance that I was completely in love with you but I thought thats what I was doing since you were always the first person my fingers felt to text when the alcohol levels in my blood were bursting. I probably will never know why it ended the way it did, or whether you will ever decide to text me back.