Air that breezes through my hair and makes me think about the set of stairs right by your old apartment. Walking up them alone in my chunky black boots, pretending to explore a city you wouldn’t show me.
Do you ever think that maybe we were the same? That is why we were afraid of each other? Do I make all men over 6 feet afraid of me, or is it that I love them anyway?
I miss you (hands). I miss you (doe eyes). I miss you (laughing on your couch). I miss you all the time and you’re never here. Never were. Technically here, it is not yet Fall, but September still counts in my book. Technically, where you are, it is always Fall.
Remember when you pulled me closer in the hotel bed last December? It was early morning. I was rustling at the side of the bed to grab a shirt, vulnerable. You turned over in your sleep, pulled my waist into you and mumbled “no clothes” and I settled and you kissed my hair. I had you in my city for one night and I still have the wrapping bow that you threw aside.
It is in the early mornings when I miss you most. I guess it’s when the weather cools down that I remember you the best. Sometimes, most recently, it feels like it didn’t happen at all.
It is forever Fall in the hole you left; all cool weather, chocolate hair, and warm, whiskey cheeks. I hope to one day wrap a blanket around you to let you know you are always welcome here, especially if you are cold.
I miss you (late nights). I miss you (love you always). I miss you (goodbye).