That leftover slice of your lasagna in the fridge is still mine if you don't want it, but thinking of you this afternoon made me smile.

I open the box with the ribbon you used and I smell paper and you and want you here.

I miss how your voice sounded when you promised to worry less about small things.

I still have a crumb of that dessert stuck to the plate and it reminds me of you.

I miss the way you stared at the ring after you put it on me.

I keep checking our messages from that evening and smiling at every typo you made.

I read the card you wrote me that night and every sentence makes me miss you more.

I miss the quiet laugh you made when I pretended to faint.

I still have the receipt from the florist and I look at the numbers like they're a date.

I miss the way your thumb brushed mine when you reached for the ring.

I keep humming the tune you hummed before you asked and it makes me miss you.

The little dent in the table from your knee feels like proof and I touch it when I'm missing you.

I miss how your voice cracked on the last word and then steadied.

I press my hand where yours was when you slid the ring on and hold the spot for a minute.

I miss stealing your fork at the reception and how you pretended not to notice.

I replay the exact sentence you used and it still makes my chest go tight.

There's a photo of your shoes by the step and I look at it when I need you near.

I miss how you fumbled the words and then chose the one that mattered.

I keep the napkin with your lipstick in my wallet and it surprises me in quiet moments.

I miss the awkward way you cleared your throat before you spoke that night.

Sometimes I say your name out loud like it's a password back to that hallway.

I found the tiny scuff on the ring and it makes the whole thing feel more real and mine.

I can't stop picturing how you breathed right before you asked me and I miss that breath.

I pulled the bow from the flowers you gave and put it under my pillow.

I miss the quiet you made when you was thinking of the words to ask me.

I keep checking my phone hoping for a photo from that night even though we took plenty.

I miss the small, embarrassed grin you had when you realized you were crying.

The ring box is on my dresser and I find myself touching it during boring meetings.

I keep replaying your voice saying my name during the proposal and it feels unfair how much I miss it.

I miss the way you wiped cake from my chin without asking.

There's a speck of confetti on my coat and every time I brush it off I miss you.

When I close my eyes I go back to that hallway and the silence that followed the question.

I keep reaching for your jacket from that night even though it's too big for me.

I found the slice of cake you stole and hid in the fridge and I laughed out loud alone.

Thinking about the way you laughed after I said yes makes me miss you more than I expected.

Your hands were shaking when you put the ring on and I miss that small, honest mess.

I can't stop replaying you on one knee and my chest tightens whenever I do.

I still have your crumpled tux pocket square in my drawer and I keep smiling at it.

I burned my toast again this morning and promised I'd make it up to you tonight; to be clear, the making up will be distractingly affectionate.

I keep replaying your laugh in the kitchen at midnight — makes me want to press my lips to your neck when you next stand that close.