What was there to miss?

I wonder if you miss me. My efforts took up a lot of your time, and mine too. So when you left, did you notice that hollow place? Do you think, "This is where she would have given me a little note to get me through my day"? Do you notice where I would have walked you to class and asked you about your day? How about when we would smile at each other in the hallway when we crossed paths, you on your way to math and me to science. Now you walk alone, and the glances are cold, where they used to be filled with warmth. I want to miss you, I do, but you gave me nothing to miss. You never called me. You never texted me. Never wrote me notes, never kissed my cheek and told me I was beautiful. You never put in any effort, so now I just have to wait for that empty place next to me in the hallway to become less noticable. That hollow space fills, if you stop focusing on what you've lost and start welcoming the people incoming. Where you used to walk, I now speak to a young girl who I know looks up to me, only because her mother told me. And here, where you played a duet with me, both of us on violin, now sits a cellist, whole and full of life. When you give me nothing of us, I will find everything else elsewhere.