You always look at me first when you make a joke, like my reaction is the one you’re actually waiting for. And of course I look up, meet your eyes, and there it is: that cheeky little smile you give me, before you turn away like nothing happened, but I can tell you’re smug that I noticed.

I wish I could tell you how much I love you. If things were different—if the world were kinder, I would never let you go.

You found me again in my dreams last night. You always do, even when you do not appear as a face, you arrive as a feeling.