I always find myself thinking about you.
Even if I don't mean to.
I could try writing about the seasons and how beautiful they are or how they are forever changing, but I know I'd end up with something hinting at you.
About how I was lonely in the spring, fell for you in the summer, lost you in fall, and let go in the winter.
I write about you because I can't actually tell you how I feel.
So the paper in my journal feels it instead.
Because if I tried to tell you, it just wouldn't come out the same.
How I can't sleep when the smell of you still lingers on my sheets.
How I stopped listening to my music on shuffle because all the songs remind me of you.
How I can't look at pictures of your face because I picture myself next to you still.
How I struggle not picking up the phone to call you when something good or bad happens to me.
How I sit in the shower and wait for the aching to stop before I get out and have to face the world again, alone.
And how I used to laugh at girls that would be love sick over a guy.
But darling, I would give up everything to hear you say, "I miss you and love you too."
Do you see what I mean?
You find your way back into my words, back into my thoughts.
The seasons are changing now, and so are you.
You're still gone.
And I'm still here.