I wanted to be the girl that you’d want to wake up to.

I wanted to be the girl you’d proudly say “This is my girlfriend.”

I wanted to be the girl you’d want to hang out with.

I wanted to be the girl that you’d look at as if she’s the light in this sea of darkness.

I wanted to be the girl you’d want to teach how to play video games so that the both of you would share the same hobby.

I wanted to be the girl who is yours.

I still do. Yes, I do.

But now, perhaps to manage expectations, I should want to be the girl you’ll remember with fondness, with a smile on your face, with being able to say, “Yea, I had a good time with her.”

When you ask someone else what she wants to eat, you’ll hear my voice saying, “Rice.” And if the girl says the same, you’d say, “I knew someone who answers rice all the time.”

When you see a yellow dress, yellow flowers, yellow things, you’ll remember me and how I wanted to be in a yellow wedding dress and you’d wonder, did she get her yellow wedding dress?

When someone compliments your shirts, your shorts, you’ll say, ‘She got me this. She had good taste.”

When you think of girlfriends, of criteria, of what you want in a girlfriend, I hope you’ll think of me. You’d think, she wasn’t that bad.

And when you think of love, maybe you’ll remember me and all the things I’ve said and done and you’d think perhaps her idea of love wasn’t that far off tangent after all.

And you’ll miss me.