it's like my pen is filled with love instead of ink
and writes your name in the color of affection.
Missing you isn't
"I miss talking to him."
           or
  "I miss his laugh."
  even more not "I miss his voice."
it's pining the placidity behind your eyes,
seeing a sliver of your soul in a stare.
The way my name spirals off of your tongue
alerting the butterflies in my stomach to scatter.
The way your body was sculptured so perfectly.
Each muscle, every vein.
I thank whoever is up above and the time they took.
How the smile lines sit upon your face
and I see a glimpse of the child within you.
It's mostly the way you look at all I am
and see everything in nothing.
It's like my pen is filled with with love
the only difference is there's hints on melancholy
and writes your name in the color of woe.
Loving you isn't
   "I love his vibe."
        or
      "I love his style."
even more not "I love his personality."
It's me loving everything that makes you
who you are
Being present to watch
each birth
every era
into the person you become
it's wondering what can I do to assist you?
Giving you pieces of me without hindering myself.
it's knowing in this realm and outside of it
I will follow the traces of your essence
left on my path
I-
Great, now my pen is empty.
At least I'm still able to write your name in my head.