excuse me while i go make some maple syrup out of all the sap that these few words will produce

But I miss you.

Like how? Like there's a magnet in my stomach that's searching for a metal surface. Like the sheets still smell of you, and the things that don't actually have your scent, do. Like the smile I get when I think of what you'd think of my new pillow--if you ever see it before it flattens itself. Like the first bad dream I'd had in months came to me the weekend after you left my house--again. Like you're strange and weird in all the right ways. Like how I can run my fingers effortlessly through your curly hair. Like the grip of my hands on your broad shoulders. Like you wouldn't let me sleep, and yet I was fine the next day. Like the playful banter I imagine easily rolling off the tips of our tongues, if we weren't typing it, and if, in person, we were using our lips and our tongues to talk. Like how when we hold hands, yours cradle mine in your palms. Like your breath on my ears. Like your laughter. Like your smile. Like the way my stomach drops, every time, whenever I think of your breathy whisper telling me, "Truth is...I'm crazy about you."

Like, I miss you.