I’ve moved countries.
I’ve moved, and it’s the little differences that remind me of this.
It’s not the massive skyscrapers and old town squares,
the gray skies and cold weather
(oh so different from the heat of skin on skin I’m used to)
It’s not the fast paced life and sounds of a foreign tongue surrounding me

It’s the little things,
like the subtle quietness of my apartment,
and the clack of heels on the floor above me,
the waterfall of TV advertisments,

It’s the sense of loneliness
and the nostalgia of your touch

It’s how I forgot the colour of your eyes,
and the shape of your nose,
your crooked smile and heartfelt laugh

I don’t miss my country,
I’m missing all the aspects of you that are still locked back there.