Dear Micah,

I sometimes feel you in hallways and
the sunlight between the blinds.

Motionless or watching
But silent
As I hesitate

And the space in the room is filling suddenly with only you
(a lot like your laughter , now floating on  wings of insects)
waiting for my next letter;
to mold words I can only feel through foreign entities
plagued with silence and melodies you used to know.
Now dying with you.

There are a thousand ways to say I miss you,
Im too sad to write even one.