I hate that I miss you.

I hate that I still think of you.

I hate that when you call, I pick up.

I hate that I still hope I run into you. Simply to feel you look at me.

Remember what it sounded like to hear your laugh.

Catch phrases that stuck, movies that I still watch.

Scents I still remember. Memories I grasp.

I do not hesitate to feed your empty conversation of how much you hate work.

Because  I know that doing so will keep your voice fluid with the melody of mine.

It is like picking up like we never said good bye.

But we were supposed to leave, go our separate ways.

Why do you keep coming back?

Because in the end I am the one waiting…….

Waiting for a train that has always missed my stop.