As I sit here in your bed, remembering the last time we laid in it, meshed together; I think of your laugh. How infectious you are. Part of me feels jealous, knowing I am not the only person who has felt your magic, or had my world altered because of it.
I think of that evening where we laughed late into the night, and you read me poems. The hours ticked by and I never wanted it to end. You asked if I wanted to stay the night, and my heart felt full.
And now I am packing your books, and your paintings, for you are gone. I find it so strange how you can bring tears to my eyes when I recall your smile.
I long to turn over and see your beautiful face, to trace the ink etched onto your skin.
A tear runs down my cheek, and I look for a paper towel, but there aren’t any because you are no longer here. They have left with you.
A smile passes on my lips for a minute as I remember the time I lined up your hair in the back and I cut a little too high, but you didn’t get mad as I righted it.
Perhaps if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, you will appear. And we will dance in your kitchen as I make spaghetti, just as we did on our second date. You always did know the best songs.