To the Keeper of my Heart

 I miss you. I don't know how or why, I just know that there's this piece of me that seems to be yearning for you, or a part of what you bring to me in your presence. I can't explain what it is; I can only say, "I miss you." I think, wonder, sometimes if it's something as superficial as the tender way you look at me as you draw me to you, the feel of your fingers on my throat sliding down to rest just above my heart, of your lips brushing the flat surface of my belly. It's not that superficial, though; it's deeper and more profound in a way I cannot describe. I just - miss you.

 Something in the way those words that have been used so much have diminished what they mean. I miss you. Miss - to not meet, to be incomplete. My heart yearns for that piece of you which fills a part of me, complements the song that is my life. Without it, the music is unfinished, hollow, flat. I miss you. This is the way it is with everyone we love. The absence of their presence creates a vacuum which threatens to implode our very spirit, our heart, were it not for the joy that is fed by the hope that we will meet again, and like the morning to the sun, rejoin and experience that burst of life that accompanies every new day, every new meeting.

 So what is it about you that draws me to you, makes my heart sigh gently at our parting, and rejoice in our meeting? It's you, my heart. Simply you. I miss you.

Me.

My Pages