Sometimes I miss you so much that I cannot breathe.  Who am I kidding? I always miss you that much.  My lungs close themselves off, afraid of the words that might leave with each exhalation, afraid of the confessions I might make, afraid of the lies I might tell.  I can’t breathe, I can’t eat, and I can’t think.  You steal my breath.  You tie my stomach in knots. You invade my thoughts. You take all of me without asking and don’t offer any in return.  So I’m left here with a gaping whole in my chest from the heart that you refuse to give back.  Then you dare me to come and get it.  You laugh and smile in that charming way.  Next thing I know I am pressed against you, trying to take my heart from where it is hidden behind your back, my lips pushing against yours, trying to find the place where you keep your secrets.