My Dear You!

Winters are here again, but you aren’t. The chilly winds and the frozen dew, but it doesn’t feel so great without you. I still brew two cups of coffee every morning, but I only drink mine. I don’t waste yours though, not until the next morning at least. I still sleep with one sock on, but you aren’t here to tease me about it. Every time I jump in to the unmade bed, I can see you shaking your head, disapproving. I still have faint memories of how your warmth sent chills down my spine; ironic, right? Every time I curl up on the couch I wish you were still here to hold me. I still drink water with soup; I remember how it cracked you up. Some mornings I wake up to the sound of your laughter; funny how dreams feel so real. I miss you so much; I miss you all the time. But this season haunts me for winters are here again, but you aren’t.