I think there is a such thing as missing someone more than you want them, and that number being mutual. The weird thing is though, I like you, but I don't necessarily miss you. I've established at least one-hundred times that this is over, and on my bad days I get to thinking about you and I remember the way I felt, and the things we did, and the fact that I was never comfortable and it reminds me of what I know it's supposed to look like even if that's probably not what love actually is. I remember that day, and holding hands with shawn and hearing you talk about me, and then you making out with my best friend later that night, and me going home wondering what this would ever amount to. That was before november, and before march, and after all the awkwardness of the thirtyith. this is all it's ever been, and all it ever was, and all it ever is. the good news is, i still don't have september but I hope to, and I don't think november was ever more than a year.