I miss that feeling of missing someone and I want to get it back. I want it back, and I want it in the way that I could read your mind in the morning knowing how you want your coffee black and burning so you only sip it slow.
I want it back and I want to listen to how you listen to the plants and whisper telling them to grow. I want it back and I want it in the winter when you crawl into my skin, and deliver little kisses bringing heat into my bones.
I want it back in the form of little stories made up on a whim when we look at pictures on the fridge in other people's kitchens. I want it back like laughing secret codes at things we only tell each other in our world of secret jokes. I want it back in the way that I need to learn your voice and pick up all your tones like inflected treasures and live between the words you never say and the ones I read on your face.
I want I back and when I meet you speaking plainly of the worlds I lived in looking for my ghosts, but I don’t know you, and I want to miss the feeling of missing you the most.