Is it okay if I confess

That sometimes I miss you?

That sometimes I think of you?

That sometimes I wish things could have been different for us?

I miss you.

Not the kind of missing lovers have

Not the kind of missing friends do

It's the kind of passerby hold close to their heart

And never tell one another.

I miss you

The same way

I miss the old man that rides the same bus with me every morning

The same way

I miss passing the jogger and her dog as I pedal down the street

The same way

I miss seeing a neighbour's window lit at the same time as mine.

I miss you.

Miss admitting that aloud in the dark

Miss how you used to sit at the back of my bike

Miss your warmth barely grazed my dirty uniform shirt

Miss your sarcastic laugh at my sarcastic joke.

You probably would be laughing right now at my cheesiness.

But you would never read these lines,

So it's alright for me to confess that

I miss you.

That I still think of you when I can't think of anything else.

Sometimes I wonder how it would be

If I didn't go to Canada,

If I stayed in Vietnam,

Would we go to the same school and study under the same major

Or would we split and slowly getting further apart

Eventually reach the same end?

Would this leaden longing different from the one I'm having?

Would I miss you the way friends supposed to?

Would we forget each other quicker and faster?

I convince myself that I don't miss you because you've been integrated too deep in me, already a part of me.

But truth is I already forgot you.

Perhaps it's now that I finally admitted it.

Perhaps I should finally release my stubborn hold and say,

Yes, I forgot you.

The silent recalling I've into late nights

Are only stray fragments of boredom.

The alternative history of us

Are only my way of reflecting on my poor life.

The familiar faces and streets in my dreams

Are only my brain recycling memories.

I should probably stop lying to myself.

Stop forcing myself to put on a mournful facade.

Because we've both let go,

And it doesn't matter if we miss each other.

We've diverged to far.

We'll never meet again.

I think,

It will be the same regardless.

I think,

Fate only allows us to be together that far.

I think,

No matter what, we will return to be strangers

I think,

I will miss you the same way I'm missing you now.

As a stranger.

As a passerby.

As a line that intersect once with mine.

As someone who I once love and dear and cheerfully hold.

I miss you.

Sometimes.