Missing Me

All these years later I still think about you. Not because I miss you, because I don’t miss you.

The last time I saw you I knew it would be the last time I’d ever see you.

I thought I saw you one time after that last time, but it was somebody else who looked like I thought you’d look like after all these years. It was someone else though.

I wonder if you look like she did.

I wonder if you’d be proud of me.

Would you be proud of me, if we were still us and I was me now?

But I could never be me if was still with you. I was too concerned with being whoever you thought I was or should be.

If I had stayed with you I’d have stayed the man I was with you, not the man I always was, but wasn’t then.

Every once in a while I do think about you, and I smile. Not because I miss you, because I don’t miss you.

I smile because I’m thinking about me, the me I was then, that charming, sweet, innocent and so naïve young man. I find it hard to believe that I was ever that green.

I like to believe I’ve kept some of that innocence.

As each year passes, and as I continue to meet people like you, more pieces of my innocence disappears.

But I do smile, once in a while, when I think about you. Not because I miss you, because I don’t miss you.

I smile because I miss me.