The beginning of July is a particularly difficult time for me—history wise. I’m out here trying to make significant dates less significant, cause they no longer have any meaning.

Every so often someone asks: “Do you miss him?”

It would be completely naive of me to say “no.” The correct answer is that I miss love, as corny as that fucking sounds. And we all know… I hate that.

The kind of love that makes it hard as fuck to get out of bed while the other one is still cozy in the covers. The kind of love where you could walk out the door, lock it, but turn around and come back for one last dumbass kiss.

The kind of love that makes you disgusting, in which you must prevent yourself from posting 1,000 images of him on IG with captions that convey both sickening affection and annoyance that this individual exists in your life.

The kind of love that makes bad days better and good days euphoric.

The kind of love that makes you smile in the middle of nowhere while doing absolutely nothing.

The kind of love where you sacrifice: bedspace, food, time, clothes (yes, I will steal yours. BET), patience, etc. etc. etc. I’ll put in work, as long as he does.

Note: I started crying while writing this post, then I put on a Trap mix and proceeded to dance alone in my room cause a Meek Mill song came on and remembered that love is for suckers. If you know me personally this is not hard to picture. Guilty as fuck.

But I stopped dancing and need to admit: I still want stupid love tho. Just so we’re all clear.