I miss..

Loving someone for who they were, but hating who they’ve become.

I miss the man you were
before the sharp edges,
before love learned how to bruise.
When your laughter was a home
and not a warning sign.

I miss the way your eyes held me
like I was something worth keeping,
not something to be endured.
You spoke softly then—
even your silence felt kind.

Now I hate the man you are.
Not because I want to,
but because I have to
to survive you.
You wear his face,
but your hands are different.

You speak in tones that cut,
carry truths that feel rehearsed,
love like it’s a transaction
instead of a promise.
You look at me
and I swear you don’t see me at all.

I grieve you
like someone who’s died
but keeps walking back into the room,
expecting familiarity,
expecting forgiveness
for being a stranger.

I miss who you were
with an ache that won’t rest.
And I hate who you are
because he made loving you
feel like a mistake
instead of a miracle.