Sitting on the wooden bench by the lake
Travelling through the neurons of memories
Leaving a trail of futile reminiscence
My mind, an array of poor reflections
Of yesteryear, a bitter sweet solace
Of that kiss under the make believe mistletoe
Of the moon, stars and the shooting stars
In the middle of the football field
On that beautiful, fateful summer night
Of that car ride to the railway station
When you and I were too numb
To say our permanent temporary goodbyes.

Missing you.
I miss running my hand through your hair,
And caressing your cheeks,
Only to end up pulling them too hard.

Missing you.
I miss finding the wet of your lips,
When I reach out to kiss you,
Instead of the lit up cell phone screen.

Missing you.
I miss sitting beside you on that terrace,
And watching the night sky,
Cocooning us in its slumber.

Missing you.
That's the only constant there is.
The fault in our hearts fighting hard,
Against the fault in the distance between us.

Missing you.
I miss caressing the back of your palm,
Finding the contours of your hands,
Remembering them, soaking them all in.

Missing you.
I miss how we turned on the air conditioner,
Just to brush against each other for the warmth,
Curled up in the sweetest of embrace.

Missing you.
I miss you when I go on night walks,
Alone.
And find lovers engrossed in their own dimension.

Missing you.
I miss you in the park benches surrounded by autumn leaves,
The winter dews in the foggy mornings,
And the book I read on rainy days.