Montage

You made a photo montage of us. Like a collage, with about fifteen photos of us at various family get-togethers, parties, dinners, holidays, nights out. Your friends slammed you, they absolutely ripped you to shreds over it, saying that you’re under the thumb. Not at all. I have never been in a relationship so equal: we both shared the trousers, one leg each.

I just looked at the collage you made. This was a mistake.

I miss you today. I didn’t miss you all the other days, but today I do. I want you to come and visit me, like you used to every Sunday. I’d cook us some dinner and we’d watch whatever you want on tv. Hell, we can even watch one of those stupid action films that I hate. Then I’d take a shower and we’d lie next to each other in bed and everything would be okay for once in my life because you’d be there, existing next to me.

I miss you today. I didn’t miss you all the other days, but today I do.

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