Hasha: I Still Miss You

No matter how many times I say goodbye, no matter how often I think I'm getting used to this, I still miss you. I still feel every inch of who I am, straining, reaching across time and space to touch you, seeking you. Sometimes I can recreate your warmth with my imagination, I can close my eyes and pretend it is you lying beside me, and not a pillow. I can almost feel your arms around me, the tickle of your breath on my neck and shoulders. I can remember the heat and taste of your mouth. I remember the exact hazel of your eyes when you look at me, the curve of your lips. I close my eyes and try desperately to conjure you there with me, and for a brief moment, I almost believe that you're here.

Then I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and look at the empty space beside me. I look for some remnant of your presence, but it's not there. I press my face into my pillow, and try to breathe you in, but your scent does not linger in the way it would have if you'd really been beside me.

I look at the stars and wonder if they sing. I wonder if their song is for us, and if, when we dance, we're dancing to their tune. I wonder if you feel as lost in me as I do in you, or as found. I wonder if I could touch heaven in your arms, or see your soul in your eyes. I wonder if this moves you to tears as it has moved me, as it still moves me, as I believe it always will move me. I wonder, when I'm lying in your arms, if it will always be this comfortable, this real, this safe, and this true.