I hate that it matters to me, every day, whether you look at me or greet me. I hate that I hold my breath for you to give me a nod, or a wink, or to walk by and hold my hand a second too long. I hate that you know how much it matters to me.
I never realized how much you watched me, or how well you read me. I wish that I didn't need you so much. I wish I didn't know the way you look directly into my eyes and see everything. I wish I didn't know how it felt to be the focus of your eyes and your questions. I was surprised to find out how much you knew about me just by watching, since I had never revealed it, verbally or otherwise. I wish I didn't see it in your eyes, how much I amuse you. I wish I didn't know how well you could tell what I was thinking or feeling, more than anyone else has ever been able to. I wish I didn't know that you feel about me the same way I feel about you. I wish you didn't challenge me and excite me and make me laugh and laugh at me when I'm being funny or just unintentionally absurd. I wish I didn't know how deeply you care for me. I wish you hadn't been able to look at me and tell me, right at the moment that I thought I was staying strong and trying to be indifferent and standing firm, that I was fragile. And you were right.
I wish that this connection was something I'd had with someone, anyone else. I wish this didn't make me more lonely. I wish I hadn't allowed myself that one hard, sobbing, lengthy cry.
More than all that, I wish you weren't with someone else.