I still miss her

like night misses day It’s the feeling you get when your eyes can't wait to see the blessed sun so they refuse to shut lest they miss the wake of dawn... But I know I should rather sleep to pull myself faster to the break of day than to stay up conversing with Cupid about how she's been and what's gone her way... I suppose my demons have their ways of inciting the urge by pestering my mind with phantasms of her... Why does the night have to drag itself so sluggishly? I still miss her like night misses day. If only the moon would give me the courtesy of winding the sun every evening so that it might never leave me be; might she shine on my face forevermore?

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