I guess my first girlfriend and my mother were right in coloring me a hopeless romantic.

You effect me so deeply,
you're thousands of stone throws away
and I can still feel you choking me.
I miss you
like the low tide misses the beach,
only I don't have the nautical reassurance of knowing I'll see you again.

You're childish, rash, and prone to injuries; physical and otherwise.
You're so many beautiful things and you're a few ugly things and I wouldn't trade you for the greenest grass, the sweetest peach, or the everlasting nothingness of death.
I'd trade my assurance of death for your touch, for your whisperings in my ear, for your hairs in my bed.

I hate myself for feeling like this,
I'm disgusted in myself for writing this.

I wanted to tell you about my day today, it was wonderful, it was magical, it was sober and I did not grieve your absence; in fact, I didn't note it.

The sadness comes in waves.