I don't exactly miss being ignorant. Or, perhaps it was more like some part of me knew what was going on, but tried to glass over.
I don't miss what we had together, or what I should say the lack of it. For you where never who you were suppose to be, ignoring your role and leaving me to isolation.
I don't miss any of that, nor do I ever want to experience that again. No amount of wishing can change my past. My life was a painted picture. Or rather, the painting covered up all the flaws and lies beneath the portrait. Till one day you burst threw my beautiful world, and all that was left was tattered pieces.
I don't miss that piece of art. For I am a better painter now, and don't want what I've outgrown. But I did feel more back then, and that's what I miss most.
~2014