I think of you too often. I do miss you;
I miss early mornings and grave stones.
So much that we have lost, how do I get
it back? I imagine that everything we have
done is recorded somewhere – wouldn't that be
something? And when I hear the word "river"or
"twilight" I think of you, fondly.
I wish you'd come knocking at my door. This desire
holds onto me like a neck brace, annoying and comforting
all at once. What have I done to deserve this
separation, this feeling of desperation? Only you makes
me feel complete.
Why don't you call me more?
Missing you hurts my head.