Solid food

Companionship

Sick sex (when you know you’re not supposed to be having sex but you have it anyway because you just want to be loved on and held and penetration is nice, too)

Lying down completely flat

Sexy underwear

My jawline

Your hands

Your smell

Your apartment (the studio one with the bed just feet away from the kitchen so I could always see you. The one with the sliding glass door. I would tiptoe onto your patio knocking softly and you’d always let me in…)

You (but not the you you turned into. I miss the you who drugged me when I was sick and held me in your arms singing to me, making love to me gingerly because you shouldn’t but couldn’t help yourself. The you that held me cuddled in your lap as you recited basketball stats. The you that took the time to love on me, heal me, me, grow me–before you completely fell apart. I believed he was in you. I tried to love him back into existence well after he had died. This new you– I don’t know that guy…)

Solid food (I miss it twice)