the version

i dont miss you, but I miss the version of me that believed you believed in second, third, and even fourth chances i miss the version of me who didnt burn out just talking during the day who didn’t reread messages looking for shifts that weren’t there yet who didn’t measure tone like it was something that could save me i miss the version of me that didnt read through lines didnt read through his own lines so he didnt feel confined to one meaning of his voice incase he second guessed and thought he was wrong i miss how simple my thoughts used to be before every sentence became something to analyze before every silence felt like a warning before i turned conversations into puzzles i had to solve i miss speaking without rehearsing without editing without wondering how it would be received because somewhere between trusting you and losing you i learned how to doubt myself how to question even the things i was certain of and now even my own voice doesn’t feel like mine it feels like something i have to double check before i let it be heard so no i don’t miss you i miss the version of me who didn’t feel like every word needed permission every breath needed to be overseen and approval to exist.