If I were to write here every time I thought of you, there would be hundreds of messages. The only words would be, "I miss you."
I mailed you a letter. Did you get it? If you did, did you read it? What does it mean to you? What does it mean now to me?
Riding my bike today, I thought of your ex-addiction. All those pain killers. Where is your pain now? What happened to it? Oh, I ache for the fullness you provided. I miss your smile.
Those accidents and shattered bones. I touched your clavicle. I loved it. I wanted to use it to pull you to me; those handles that you only spoke of once. Why did you let me in? Why do you keep me out?
I mean ... what did you think would happen?
I know what I thought. I thought you would love me.
It was foolish. It was hopeful. It was a day dream to keep me going. There is no me for you in your mind, is there. So many "if"s. No definites.

I miss you.
Do I keep myself this way?
Do I keep myself missing you?

"You need to learn to let go. Have you tried meditation?"
What if I don't want to let go, because if I let go of these feelings then I'll have no proof you ever touched me at all.