I'm starting to realise that memories aren't enough. I've got all these memories of you, but I don't want them. I want you.
I miss you. I miss your laugh. I miss the random conversations we had about literature and art and sex and kids and rain. I miss waking up every day and knowing I'll be able to tell you how much I love you, whenever I want. I miss the way your hair stuck up no matter how much you tried to keep it down, and how I pretended to hate it so much. I miss the face you pulled when you were trying to be romantic.
I miss you.