I miss you. And I feel the need to scream it into the void. Utter it into existence so the universe has some account of my suffering. I thought about you all the time, every morning, and every evening before I fell asleep. That doesn't stop overnight, as you well know. You still run rampant up there, and you will continue for a long while no doubt.
It hurts the most to think you don't feel the same. That in such a short time you were able to detach. That you don't miss my handsome face, or my hands digging into your back, or my smile when you made me burst out laughing. Maybe you do miss those things and you can't admit them. Maybe you really don't have any idea about how you feel or what you're doing. The fault is mine then for falling in love with a woman in the eye of a hurricane.
Still. I am compelled to wait. I haven't felt conviction like this in years, and thus it seems important to act upon it. In all the great unfeeling cosmos, what is life without love?
