AN: Oh, the spoils of procrastination...

I miss you
So much
It almost hurts
Yet it's quite
Dissimilar
To pain
And any old
Kind of ache
It's more
A sort of
Wanting
A type of
Hollowness
Just to one
Side, that
Spot usually
Filled
By you

It seems a bit
Unreal to me
Such symptoms
Of withdrawal
Just one week
Into this
Relationship

I miss your hands
And your hair
The impish grin
The bursting
Laughter

Restlessness
Has me pacing
Up and down
This little cell,
With the door
Unlocked and I
Am held within
By the unwanted
Obligations of
The required
English class