I was fumbling with my keys and thought of how you always grab them for me.

I want to make up for the last quiet week by asking for one coffee with you.

I noticed the way you stacked the books and it made me miss having your clutter around.

I saw the corner of your scarf in the laundry and wanted to fold it just to feel close.

I missed your blunt honesty today; I needed it more than I realised.

I’m thinking of the slow walk home we took and wanted to know if you’d do it again.

I kept the tiny note you left on my laptop and reread it; I wanted to say thank you.

I miss the small ritual of us comparing grocery lists and stealing items off each other's.

I wanted to check if you still hum that song when you’re making dinner.

I bought the same brand of tea you like and wished you were making it now.

I remembered your weird ringtone and smiled like an idiot in the middle of a meeting.

I want to tell you I noticed the extra effort you made last month and it mattered.

I found the receipt from that awful restaurant and it reminded me of how we laughed anyway.

I’m more impatient with everything else when I don’t hear from you.

I kept your joke in my head all day and it made me want to text you back immediately.

I miss the way you fold your socks and how specific you are about which drawer gets what.

I want to apologise for snapping last week and mean it this time.

I was halfway through our show and paused it because I wanted you to react to the next line.

I miss asking you what you want for dinner and then making something we both complain about.

I woke up thinking of the scratch on your phone and how you refused to fix it—small stubborn things remind me of you.

I kept the napkin from our takeout and it made me want to tell you I’m glad you exist.

I’d like to sit with you for ten minutes and do nothing but count the cars outside.

I want to hear about the tiny thing that annoyed you today, if you have the energy.

I remembered the way you argued about pineapple on pizza and laughed out loud.

I noticed your pen in my bag and felt a little less alone.

I kept your terrible playlist and listened to it; it made me want you beside me.

I saw a blue mug today and it made me want to call you just to say hi.

I was making toast and burnt it, then thought of how you always rescue breakfast—miss that.

I walked past the corner bench where you fell asleep once and I wished you were there.

I like you more than I did that morning we shared the cinnamon roll.

I found the ticket stub from the film we left early from and wanted to ask if you want to go again.

Your message about the stupid meeting made my day; I wanted to say thank you and that I missed you.

I woke up and realized I hadn't sent you a stupid selfie in weeks and it felt wrong.

I keep thinking about the shirt you wore when we danced in the kitchen.

That tiny dent on your car from the grocery run—seeing it made me smile all day.

I missed your laugh today and wanted to tell you before I forget.

Remember the coffee cup you left on my desk that afternoon? I kept it and it still smells like you.

I want to tell you plainly: I’ve been missing you.

I miss the small, ordinary habit of you stealing my fries.

I want more evenings where we end up on the sofa, tired and content, no plans needed.