I miss the grocery aisle where you argued passionately about which tomatoes to buy.

I miss you; even the ordinary fact of you is tender today.

Valentine's has me missing your text at 3 a.m., short and half-joking.

I miss your backpack with the sticker of that band we barely know.

I miss you and the terrible coffee you make that you swear is ‘fine’.

I miss the small victory dance you do when your plant doesn't die.

I miss the half-written grocery list you tucked into your pocket and forgot.

I miss the way your keys jingle when you get home late.

On this day I miss you standing in the kitchen trying to flip pancakes.

I miss the playlist you made that got stuck on one song all week.

I miss watching you read and frown at the margins of your notebook.

I miss you enough to admit I checked your messages without asking.

I miss the crumb of toast you left on the counter and didn't notice.

Valentine's has me missing the small ridiculous things — your pen that always leaks.

I miss your voice saying my name wrong in that soft, teasing way.

I miss the smell of your shampoo on my pillow from yesterday.

I miss sitting with you in the laundromat while our socks tumbled.

I miss the button on your coat I sewed back on last week.

I miss you — even the way you sigh when the bus jolts.

I miss your chipped mug from that tiny stall we found together this morning.

I keep replaying your thumbs‑up emoji and smiling at how thoughtful that was.

I want to say: I am proud of how you handled today.

I noticed you tied your shoelace for me without making it a thing.

You left your gloves on my doorstep and I liked carrying them upstairs.

I felt lighter after our short, honest argument; thank you for staying.

I like being the person you rant to about slow Wi‑Fi.

I wanted to tell you: today I relied on you and it felt safe.

I noticed you wiped the crumbs from the table and I noticed you.

I love that you always leave one fry on your plate for me.

I felt warm when you handed me your scarf without saying why.

I liked that you read my draft and circled three honest things.

You humming that song while you cooked made me look up and laugh.

I am grateful you shared your umbrella with me in the rain.

Your chipped fingernail polish is the detail I remember from this afternoon.

I love the short messages you send at odd hours; they steady me.

I noticed you fell asleep with the light on and it made me smile.

I was glad when you chose the blue napkins for dinner; simple, honest choice.

You making coffee badly at 7:12 made me so glad I’m here.

Today I wanted to tell you: I miss your laugh in the kitchen.

I keep smiling at the memory of your jacket left on my chair.