Cat, can you believe it's been a year? Twelve long months since we last held each other near. You wouldn't believe it, but they're still fighting, taking me to court with your last writings. It's not what you wanted I know, and deep down they know too, they don't understand what you meant when you wrote "I love you". They weren't there, so how could they know? They didn't live our lives or feel our love grow. They think that I was somehow just a prick, that I texted you whilst you were miserable asking if you were thinking about my dick. I mean, sure, yeah, I did do that, but love is not something I can take off like a hat. It can't be trodden down and wiped off on the mat, it's like an STI that you can't give back, it's real and I feel sometimes that I want you to come back. I liked those days, back when we were free, even if my stress levels and follicles were aggravating me. Now it's all just court cases and smear, it's hard for me to find the faintest bit of cheer without you here.
I miss you (sort of).