"I miss you."
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"Babygirl I'm right here."
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"But you're not here. You're however many miles away, but not here beside me. I'm missing arms that have never held me,
hands I've never felt, eyes I've never seen, lips I've never kissed. My heart aches to trace the veins that pattern your skin,
those faint blue lines that travel up and down arm with the slightest bulge that would facinate me endlessly. All I want is
nothing more than for you to be by my side at this moment in time, inches away rather than state. I want you to be here
in person so I can watch how my name tumbles like a prayer from your mouth, how your lips form each letter carefully,
as if each one was fragile an needed to be spoke with care. I want you within arms reach so I can lean over to kiss your
cheek, shaking you from your deep thoughts. I don't want you so far to where I couldn't feel your heartbeat or the way
your chest rises and falls with each breath. You've told me that you've never known a gentle touch, and I want to be the
first you feel. I want to be with you in person, to learn all the litte habits you have, like the way your tounge pokes out
of your mouth while your pen inks a page, bringing a creation to life; or the way you run a hand through your hair when
you're annoyed, messing it up just enough to give you that innocent bedhead look as well the sense someone had just been
pulling on it with pleasure, or the way you bite your lip while you're lost in thought. I want to learn the quirks you don't
know about, like the way you'd hold my hand, softly grazing the pad of your thumb over the top of my hand because it
makes you feel secur; or the way you find yourself cracking your knuckles when you're nervous; or the way your fingers
find your eyelashes, because you like their softness. I just want more. How does that song go, the one by that band I know
you hate? If these sheets were the states and you were miles away, I'd fold them end over end to bring you closer to me.
And you know how much I hate folding from the numerous times I've dome my laundry on the phone with you. God, I
love you, but I want something more tangilbe than a phone call goodnight.
*anachronism*