Missed Calls // Mac Miller


I’ve been so many place, seen so many majestic stones and cryptic walkways. I’ve smiled brightest under different hemispheres and moons alike, while idly losing my footing on loose canyon rock and volcanic sands. My eyes have read people’s hearts before hearing them speak, but I never was able to hear yours. I’m lost in a world of fantasies and realities combined, a poisonous mixture ready to combust at any given moment. My brain hurts from thinking, but thoughts of you are endless. It’s not like I miss you or anything like that, I mean, easy.

I guess it’s just that I never got to know you, and that’s one thing I’ll drop everything to explore.

I once was screamed at for adding a chaser to my scotch on the rocks. I was living in my old apartment with my old boyfriend when he decided to lose his shit over an ounce of forty-dollar scotch. He told me never again to touch his liquor, even though it was the exact bottle I bought him for his 28th birthday. He said it was wasteful and that this particular brand was too expensive to waste by mixing it with cheap iced tea. I guess by comparison, I was too cheap too.

I refused to cry as he kept running his mouth. I thought he was a monster, but what concerned me the most was wondering what that had made me. I had been involved with this guy for five years, and yet he was fighting with me over a glass half empty. I couldn’t help feeling sick to my stomach wondering how in God’s name I was going to leave him. Maybe I had been thinking it for quite some time, but this exact moment jolted me to my edge.

And then I remember the boy I never got to know. How he cut me out of his life and pretended I didn’t exist. I guess he had to, but it still didn’t cease my endless thoughts about the what if’s. I ended up meeting a new companion right after him and my mind curtailed the more extravagant thoughts into pointless, temporary flashbacks.  But he was like an itch I couldn’t get too, and sometimes the thought of him flared up tenfold. The saddest part was that I was just a figment of his imagination for too long, and it made me feel worse because he kept pretending he dreamt me.

But I was — I was there with him, I was on his mind afterwards, and I’m still here. Quieter, more guarded, but still waiting for the final blowout we never were able to have. And a missed call. That couldn’t hurt.

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