I have to admit, that, sometimes I miss your trenchoat. Even though I always told you it looks awful.
Sometimes I miss the smell of you after smoking 5 cigarettes at night. Even though I always told you to quit because it’s unhealthy.
Sometimes I miss our late night conversations. Even though I always wanted to go to bed because I was tired.
Sometimes I miss your blue eyes. Even though they always made me feel like I’m drowning.
Sometimes, even, after all this time I still miss you. And it still hurts.