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.