When I missed you.
This is the short story of when I missed you.
Nothing quite elegant, nothing quite special.
I have to say that I hated those jeans, that I first missed because of their smell.
Later on, I missed your way of being, not funny at all, not charming, but rude and egocentric. Quite an ironic this life we shared, so mistaken, so thin.
For that, I missed your stupid face, the day you started looking at me like I was something important to you, what a fool I turn out to be, missing the things I hated the most.
In the few hours of those good days,
you were silent and distant, so even then I was an infant in your way of loving.
I will guard you in this box filled with roses, to see if the smell of you goes away, for when I missed
you...you smelled like home.
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