In the 6th grade I saw her

I loved the way her thighs touched when she sat

I loved the way she always smiled when she talked

I loved the way laughed at nothing at all

In the 10th grade I saw her

I hated how her thighs never touched anymore

I hated the way she never smiled

I hated the way she always smelled of smoke

I hated that she always said she was "fine"

I see her at her funeral

I miss how warm she used to be

I miss how she used to smell

I miss the way shed kiss my cheek in the dark

I miss the way we used to plan our future

I miss thinking she would have one.