I miss you.
I hate you too. For not calling. For leaving me.
I wish I still had your voice at night, laughing into my pillow in the middle of the night, afraid the neighbors would hear.
I didn't forget your fucking birthday. That was a dumb excuse to say I didn't care. If you still think of me at all. I only wanted to make you as mad as you've made me. And I cling to that to keep from reaching out.