Post #151

And when I miss you, know that I'm missing my home— not just a place, but the echo of your voice in morning light, the soft gravity of your gaze that held my world together. I’m not just longing for your hand in mine, but for the way silence felt softer when we shared it. For the laughter that made the walls feel alive, for the ordinary moments dressed in the magic of your presence. You are not just a person. You are the flicker in the lamp when the nights get too long. You are the scent of coffee and comfort at dawn. You are the coordinates where I am no longer lost. So when I say I miss you, know I’m aching for more than skin and voice— I’m aching for that quiet, sacred feeling of belonging. Because you… You were never just someone. You were my somewhere. You were my home. What do you miss?