Whenever I see you it is never the same. There are times when we are more intense and other times we are more casual. Sometimes we joke and sometimes we are serious. Sometimes you are incredibly close and other times you are away.
But there are some things that remain consistent. I do not know if it is the sound of your voice, or the shapes of your eyes, or the overwhelming desire to cup your cheek in my hand and feel to lowering tilt of your face toward me. I do not know if it is the wonderful tangle of grey pulled into a disobedient wildness, or the line of your neck, or the arch of your brows. Or perhaps it just that you are so close and yet the distance between us is one I ache to close with the taking of your slender hand. Perhaps it is all of these things, but there is something about being with you that fills me up. There is something more than blood that is pumped through my beating heart when you are close.
As I drive west and you headed east, I empty. It’s like the pulling of the plug from a bath; it all drains out. I am left somehow hollowed.
And in truth, I have looked for someone else who does the same thing, provides whatever that magic sensation is. I have tried to pay attention should there ever be a trickle. You are the only clear spring that fills me up.
You are beautiful and it was wonderful to see you.
Always.
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