You’re my favorite ghost.
No matter what you did,
I still love you the most:
forgiving and naive like a kid.

I was a child when I knew you
and a child when I left.
But, you were young, too
saying those words, leaving me bereft.

The thing is, I don’t miss you.
Not anymore.
I miss being loved, that’s true.
I miss being cared for.

I don’t miss you,
I just miss your taste in songs
and how you flew
far above to prove them wrong.