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 the nick in your mug from that trip last year.

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

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

I miss you and it's making me impatient.

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

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.

I miss you; it's loud in here.

I miss the sound of your keys at the door.

Everything tastes dull without you here.

I miss the small scrunch of your nose when you're concentrating.

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

I miss your hand on my back when we walk.

I'm counting minutes until I hear your voice again.

I miss the way you steal the last fry.

I miss you so much it's distracting me at work.

I can't stop thinking about your jacket on the chair.

I miss your laugh from the lecture hall today.

I miss the way you say my name when you're joking.

I miss you even when you take forever to get ready.

I miss the quiet hum of your shower in the morning.

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 the tiny grooves your keys make on the table.