I miss the nick in your mug from that trip last year.

I miss the tiny dent your elbow leaves in the couch cushion.

I miss your terrible singing in the car and I want it back.

I miss the way your coffee cup sits on the edge of the table.

I woke up missing you and the mug you left in the sink.

I miss waking up to your notifications and then realizing it's you.

I miss your forehead on my shoulder when we watch the news.

I miss you more when I pass the bench where you kissed me.

I miss the small apology texts you send after you curse at traffic.

I miss your mess on the desk that somehow always has the pen I need.

I miss learning a new bad habit every week because of you.

I miss the way you make cereal and forget to add milk sometimes.

I miss your half-finished sentences that I can finish for you.

I miss you in the middle of a joke that only we laugh at.

I miss the way you answer the door with your hair still messy.

I miss pressing my phone to my ear and hearing you breathe.

I miss the smell of your jacket when I open the closet.

I miss the way you leave crumbs on the counter and then blame the cat.

I miss the creak you make on the steps when you come home.

I miss you more at 3 a.m. when the house is quiet.

I miss you and I keep replaying your last goodbye.

I miss you more than I miss sleep.

I miss the ringtone you never change.

I miss you and it makes me honest—come home.

I miss you even in the middle of a crowded room.

I miss the way you fold your napkin after dinner.

I miss your exact way of ordering coffee.

I miss you enough to drive across town tonight.

I keep missing you between every task.

I miss your steady breathing next to me at night.

I miss the sock you always lose behind the couch.

I miss the jacket you forgot that smells like you.

I miss you, plain and simple.

I miss your shoulder to lean on during the 3pm slump.

I miss you and it's making me impatient.

I miss your messy handwriting on the shopping list.

My day keeps stopping because I keep picturing you.

I miss you pressing your forehead to mine before sleep.

I miss the half-read book you leave on the nightstand.

I miss your texts about nothing and everything.