Regrets

I miss how you would wake up next to me in the middle of the night and check up on me, kiss me, then go back to sleep, and never tell me.

I miss how you would laugh at your own jokes, excitedly, as if you wouldn't be able to hold the punchline in any longer, like a kid.

I miss how effortlessly you would slip your hand into mine, as if our hands were carved out of marble holding each other, for eons.

I miss your voice. So, so much. Especially when it would go on and on about your latest obsession and then, after hours of talking, apologize for not asking me about my day, as if I had anything to say other than "I love you!".

I miss hugging you. My face next to yours. Your body as close as physically possible to mine, feeling each other's warmth and professing love to each other with soft whispers.

I miss dancing with you. In silence. Without music. In the middle of a student dorm room. Our socks touching, my feet shielding yours, my head resting on your shoulders. My hands on your waist and your hands holding the back of my head relishing every loving, absurd moment of it all.

I miss our car rides. Listening to music, touching hands, talking about anything and everything.

I miss our dates. I know we should have had more of them. I'm sorry. I would give anything to sit on a table opposite you and hold your hand as we wait for our drinks. To stare into your eyes and see them sparkle for me, to see your smirk, equally insinuating and innocent, in a dance with your words, and your body grooving with the music under the dusky glow of a soft, gentle light.

There is no one like you. Not for me and not for anyone that has met you in this world. I promise to suffer for you if you promise to be happy.