I miss your face, I miss your voice, I miss the way your calls made me rejoice. I remember I would laugh out loud with the sheer joy of communion with another, or perhaps I’m overthinking it all – as I do – it was just the absurdity of the ringtone I assigned your number: Ooh, you will be my man, and I will be your woman every day…
The sheer silliness of it all: blame it on the oblongata.
I miss thinking of you at random times – well I still do but I miss doing so without hurt. Once, way back when, I cried over those final words so curt…I should have known you were too good to be true. That first day?- all I can muster toward it is rue.
I miss thinking of myself in relation to you and thinking of you in relation to me and pondering the difficulty of it all. Make no mistake though, I’m not here in a simplistic crawl: I’m just saying I miss you, that is all.