how he made me happy: a shoulder to lean on, bike rides on sundays, developing links between austen and shakespeare; warm body, strong hands, and a weakness for moments picked straight out of novels.

how he made me unhappy: silence, silence, smirk, silence, silence, smirk. never giving me anything of himself. collecting bits of me to dissect and resent.

i thought this list might be helpful, but its been too long already. i no longer really care what he thinks of me. the things that i miss most about him are the things that he couldn't help being: "warm body, strong hands", "bike rides on sundays". the things i don't miss are how he chose to be with me, and i am not afraid of being alone. i am not afraid of being alone. say it like a mantra. i am not afraid of being alone.