I miss you. I've lost count of the number of times
I've wanted to call you and say those words.
I need you. I want you. I miss you.
It's like some sort of unending mantra. I think
about you every night before I fall asleep
and every morning the second I wake up.
I think about you when I'm sat at my desk
watching the flowers you gave me
slowly wilt.
I'm afraid of them dying.
I'm afraid to have even less of you;
to lose another piece of you.