Yes, it’s you who I am speaking to.
I’ll keep it short.
Before I ask you if you miss me,
I’ll ask you why you left.
And then I’ll ask you,
Do you miss me?
Sometimes I think you do,
Sometimes I think you’re waiting for me to ask.
But sometimes I think, you’re not like anyone else.
And you really don’t care.
Who listens now to your cynical views of the world now?
Who replaced me?
Are you content and enjoying solitude?
Or are you dreaming of a sidekick to fight crime with you?
At midnight, on the roads, when everything looks deserted.
Who agrees with you about looking up at the skies?
These are just some things I had to tell you,
Letters I wrote to you, that may never reach you.
And yet, on another hand, I believe read these you still do.
I think you read every note of mine,
Despite what you may claim or lie,
It’s my ego that’s keeping me from asking you this straight.
But truth is, I miss our long conversations.
I truly wonder if you miss them too.
Where did you go, my friend?
Why did you leave?
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