Missing You


It has been a while.
We live afar.
But today
the distance feels carnivorous.

This longing sits inside my ribs
like something tearing,
slow and deliberate,
refusing to loosen.

I miss the weight of you
resting against me,
the way your body shaped mine
into something whole.

I miss your hair brushing my skin,
soft, careless,
unaware of how easily
it undid me.

Your hands.
Your breath.
The quiet shifts in you
that I felt as if they were mine.

I miss kissing your tired forehead,
your still hands,
the warmth you carried
long after leaving.

I miss the lavender in your hair,
how it clung to my clothes
long after you left,
a small reminder
of what the air used to feel like.

What rivals being near you?
Not the warmth of a winter sun,
nor the hush of a soft shawl,
not butterflies in sunlight
or the tender scent of a rose.
Nothing held in these hands
measures against you.

Now the distance cuts clean.
My chest feels hollow
in the shape you once filled.

I do not want my body
to forget the weight of you
or the strange completeness
you gave me.

If this ache has a name,
it must be
missing you.
A.V

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