I know what he smells like. I know how soft and thick his hair is. I know how smooth his skin feels on his face, and how rough when I run my fingers in the other direction. I know how fast his stubble grows, and where his bald patches are. I know how long his eye lashes are and how his deep brown eyes look when he’s excited.
But I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who he’s with. I don’t know what he’s been doing or what’s been on his mind. I don’t know if he ever thinks of me. I don’t know if he’s aware of how I hurt, as if my chest has been hollowed out. Empty, yet heavy. I don’t know if he’s happy. I don’t know if I want him to be…
I’d give anything just to run my hands through his hair tonight; breathe him in; wrap my arms around him and slowly plant kisses across his big shoulders and down his back. I’d hold on so tight.
Why can’t he just feel the same?
I wonder if he knows I still think he’s magic. I wonder if one day I won’t.