When you come across a photograph of us, stuffed in one of the boxes under your bed. When you see my handwriting on the back of a picture frame. When you see the way the sunset gleams off a wine glass. When you take that old backroad home. When you drive with the windows down. When you sink into the couch where we used to curl up, me like a kitten in your lap. When you taste the summertime air on your lips, I hope you remember me. I hope that ache cuts deep, I hope that loneliness sets in, and I hope, most of all, that you reach for me. Across skies and galaxies, across wind and weather and static phone lines. Across cities and states and different dreams, I hope you reach for me.
— When You Miss Me, Just Call