One Hundred and Sixty Six

Apparently you still dream of me.
I don't doubt that.
I don't doubt you wonder if I wonder about you. I don't doubt you play over that conversation in your head, and think of everything you should've said, and didn't. I don't doubt you regret all those messages after. I don't doubt you hope to run into me sometimes, when you walk by that street, and see that snow.
Sometimes I hope I run into you.
I don't know what I'd say.
I don't miss you.
I thought I did. Some piece of you, however small, some significant morsel of genuine happiness I can take from whatever it was we had. But I don't.
And I don't know if I'm sorry that you do.
I'm happy
without you.

I have always been happy
without you.