I still miss you incredibly.
I miss your face close to mine, feeling your eyebrows & your cheek bones & your chin with my nose. I miss breathing close to your skin & filling up on the smell of you. I miss your breath, a bit smoky, the sound of your voice; how it vibrated in me when we lay talking together. … Why are you (still) the only person I want to talk to when I become quiet? Or even, not talk to. Just sit with. Quietly. Not talking.
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