Nobody in Jamie Luray's poem is made to look like a saint. The person the speaker misses lied to them and, by the speaker's own account, hated them. Yet the whole poem is a long wish to have that person back. Its central idea is that love is not cancelled by knowing the truth about someone, and that missing a person includes missing the difficult parts. The poem never says whether the person died or simply walked out. All we are told is "you left," and that openness lets different readers bring their own loss to it.
The form is plain free verse, with no rhyme and no steady rhythm. The lines are short and often end abruptly, like sentences the speaker can't quite finish. The repeated "Wishing" is the main structural device, and it works by leaving things out. These lines are fragments with no subject and no main verb, so the wish never becomes an action or a plan. It just hangs there. The poem also has a frame. It opens with the single line "Wishing you were here again" and closes by returning to it, now swollen to four lines. The wish has not been answered or soothed, only multiplied.
The middle of the poem is built from two mirrored stanzas. "You lied to me, / I knew it so" is followed by "You hated me. / I knew it so." In each, the accusation is stated flatly, with no anger and no defence, and then a small hinge word, "Yet" and then "But," swings the stanza toward loyalty. The speaker keeps a quiet kind of accounting. Their love "never failed you once," and the other person has not left their heart "once." The poem is full of counting words: "once more," "not once," and finally "Hear them twice." The speaker is pleading for repetition, for a second chance to hear what was only heard one time. That makes "You never will" the boldest line. In a poem of wishes, it is the one flat statement of certainty about the future.
The imagery is sparse, which makes the few images stand out. "Wishing I could see again" is followed by a wish for "the blinding light," an odd pairing, since blinding light is the opposite of sight. The poem doesn't explain it, but judging by the imagery, one reading is that this person was so dazzling to the speaker that seeing clearly was never possible, and the speaker would still choose that dazzle over the dark. Something similar happens with "Wishing we had that fight again." The speaker misses even the quarrel, because an argument at least means the other person is present and engaged.
The ending also makes a subtle shift. Early on, the speaker wants "your concern once more." By the last line it has become "your care." The second word is warmer and more tender, as if the longing has deepened over the course of the poem.
The text as supplied has a couple of slips, such as "Wishing the for the blinding light" and "I wish I could here those words again." The second one is accidental or not, but it highlights the poem's central link. To "hear" the words, the person would have to be "here." The wish for presence and the wish for a voice are the same wish, and the misspelling happens to merge them.
What makes the poem worth reading is its emotional honesty. It doesn't pretend that the person deserved to be loved, and it doesn't settle into acceptance or forgiveness. It stays in the uncomfortable place where the speaker knows everything and still wishes for the person back. For students learning how poems work, it is a useful example of how much feeling can be carried by very simple means: repetition, a returning frame, and short blunt statements that sound like someone speaking quietly to an empty room.