I miss you terribly right now.
I feel you like the bones beneath my skin. You are in the dust of my fingernails, and the upturn of my nose, and the curve of my shoulders. I wonder if this is real, if it will last. I look for an end to the distance but the future is hazy and I cannot see far enough. I go on longing like a child hankering after a toy that his mother would not let him buy. But you are mine. You are mine.
I cannot convince myself, nor can I stop worrying. Is something any less significant because it might be temporary? I do not want this to be temporary. I am moody, fickle, selfish and everchanging. But I do not want this to change. I am afraid. I am afraid and heartsick, and I need to think with my hands.
I will not tell you this. But I will miss you all the same.