**** this loathsome feeling of reaching out and finding only air. The lack of you echoes within, fracturing bone and tearing at sinew, vibrating through my being.
Lightly salted cheeks no longer blush at your mention, instead they wait under eyes filled with remorse for the lightest brush of your lips.
You told me I was beautiful once, said that you could spend weeks within the green of my eyes, months nestled at the small of my back, then laughed as my eyes rolled, closely followed by an expletive sigh.
We sat with the top down as the storm roared, you watched the mists roll off the mountain, as I watched droplets settle on your chest and envied their proximity to your heart.
Hours spent just being.
That was us, before the war.