I can smell miss on my breath and feel its lumps in my mattress. I miss tangled feet, the sound of someone else breathing, making breakfast. Not having to do dishes. Staring and choosing sides. I miss sleeping with someone I love. I miss sleeping. I miss comfort and shoulders, someone making reservations, being surprised, loving a smile, resting my head in a lap in a cab ride home. Just sweatpants, socks, a tank top, and back-to-back movies. Holding hands. Saving voicemails. I miss being bored and lazy and cruising cookbooks determining what I’ll make for you. Because who cooks for one? I order in for two, even now, and I eat for two, even though it’s just me, alone, with miss aftertaste. I miss having someone.



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