Sometimes, I miss you so much it hurts. I retreat to a private little corner of my world, nursing a physical pain that refuses to go away. You have left behind an emptiness, and sometimes I think it strange that a void can hurt so much.
I remember you with photographs and with remembrances of certain incidents, and with scribbled notes in books. I look at the framed pictures of you, and open that Old Spice bottle just to remind myself of the way you used to smell. And I even see you in myself.
But somehow, I still miss you. I wish you were here, and sometimes, I find myself wondering if you are watching over me. If you're not, come here please, I need you. And if you are, stay - don't go just yet. I still need you around. Perhaps I always will.