In The Act Of Missing

I miss the chaos that I took comfort in.

I miss those nights that the crickets would sing.

I miss his dorky humour. I miss planning our future.

I miss feeling scared watching supernatural with her.

I miss knowing everything will be ok.

I miss her excitable runs. I miss the carefree.

I miss the drunken tears.

I miss his warmth, like sun.

I miss Fall Out Boy playing in his car.

I miss the fresh Somerset air.

I miss the predictably unpredictable weather.

I miss their arguing. I miss her jibes.

I miss his temper. I miss the connection.

I miss the parties.

I miss following her development.

I miss following their development.

I miss her howling at the post. I miss her laugh.

I miss the town’s gossip. I miss their accents.

I miss her madness. I miss their mess.

I miss his touch, his lips against mine.

I miss their warm smiles and kindness.

I miss his eyes. I miss the zombies.

I miss the danger of feeling safe.

I miss playing with her hair.

I miss her cheekiness.

I miss his hiss. I miss her hugs.

I miss his craziness. I miss his guns.

I miss my safety nets.

I miss his crude jokes.

I miss the uncertainty.

I miss pool on Sundays.

I miss the walks.

It’s in the act of missing that I miss everything.

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