One day, when you’re sitting there watching movies on your bed or when you’re trying to get at a girl whom you realized can’t hold an actual conversation with you about the things that you have so much passion for, or when you’re walking around State Street, or when you’re reading the news about the things you know I’m passionate for, or when you’re cooking eggs with spam and rice, or when you do the littlest, stupidest thing like using soy sauce, or when you come across my pictures, or when you see the stuffed animal I got you on your bed, or when you think back to all the things we talked about, the things we argued on, the things we debated for, or even when you’re about to fall asleep and you reach over to realize I’m not there for you to pull into your arms, or when you smell something that reminds you of me, most importantly, when you’re with someone and you realize she doesn’t care and love you as genuinely as I did, I hope you start to miss me.