You’re missing from me,
so I feel your absence.
I feel it
in the space between my finger tips where your hand normally goes,
where you fit just right and I feel less lonely.
I feel it
in the emptiness I’ve become accustomed to,
because none utters my name with the same passion
my existence seems less meaningful.
I feel it
when you’re not around,
it’s in the way I lose myself as seconds pass,
in how you bring out the best in me,
so it’s long intervals
of waiting for you to piece me be back to who I am around you,
my better half.