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I miss you, mourn for you, and walk the streets alone- often at night, beside, I fall asleep in tears, for your dear face, yet not one word comes back to me. If it is finished, tell me, and I will raise the lid to my box of Phantoms, and lay one more love in; but if it lives and beats still, still lives and beats for me, then say so, and I will strike the strings to one more strain of happiness before I die.

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We all miss you something fierce, those of us who wouldn't exist had you not kept walking when an ordinary person would have fallen to their knees. To convey in any existing language how I miss you isn't possible. It would be like blue trying to describe the ocean.

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Dear Theresa, I’m lying on my bed tonight missing you, my eyes all swollen, hot tears running down my face. There's a fierce summer lightning storm raging outside. Tonight I walked down streets looking for you in every woman’s face, as I have each night of this lonely exile. I’m afraid I’ll never see your laughing, teasing eyes again.

Miss you.
Should I say it,
I would only miss you more.

I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more.

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