Nearly a decade has passed since I last touched you, heard you say my name, or felt your fingertips caress my skin. We’ve both moved on. It would be strange if we hadn’t, after all of this time. Our lives are completely separate yet I still feel intimately woven with yours; with your mind, your soul. We are stitched together like your favorite patchwork jacket. 
Last night, I found an old photo of us and I touched myself while looking at it. While looking at you. It was urgent, visceral. Even at a distance, thousands of miles and cities between us, you have the power to turn me on. I feel desired when I think about how I used to be yours, how you used to stroke my hair, tell me you loved me, interlace your fingers with mine, wash my shoulders in the shower, beads of water clinging to my damp skin, soap trailing down my back and into the drain. Washing away like we washed away.
I miss inhaling the scent of your skin as I’d bury my face into the side of your neck. I miss tracing invisible lines down the scars that detail your body. And how we’d collapse together after sex, breathing heavy, bodies weak and sweaty—I miss that, too. I miss the way your sleepy smile would be the first thing I saw when I woke up and how we’d cuddle on the couch to watch a movie at night, even though it wasn’t really big enough for the both of us. I miss the way my heart would throb the whole walk home from work, knowing I’d be seeing you sooner with every step. I miss the pitch your voice would reach when you found something hysterically funny and I miss your guilty obsession with orange wine. Most of all, I miss the way you loved me. Quickly, passionately, with abandon. You loved me for me: my dimple, my giggle, my infallible optimism, my crescent moon tattoo. The whole me.
And I broke your heart. 
I guess you wouldn’t have loved that . . .

What I Miss About You is part of Thirteen Emotions, a collection of short stories and flash fiction. Buy a copy on Amazon or through my bookstore and read the full story.