I miss. I'm his.

I miss the hot, warm, alcholized breath on my neck
The swarming balance, falling onto me
No worry of invading me
I miss the consent we no longer need to give but could refuse in a second without any bitterness
I miss the looks, the eyes creating an emotional motorway for our personal language
The personal, dual jokes, the history
The understanding.
The understanding for carnal mouvements or for reflected philosophy.
Both equate each other and lead to Rome
Earthquake each other as we cave in
No one in, no one out.

I miss, so strongly, the presence of that other person I trust as if he was me.
Because I know him almost as much as I know myself. Or, I have a better understanding of him but more knowledge of myself.

I miss, once again, our eyes and our smiles, together. One
I miss the daytime schedule, lived in separate parts of the city but experienced as part of our own day. Knowing what the other one is doing at any time, not stalking just... Mutual implication.

I miss couch cuddling and being able to move without fear of bothering the other
I miss shuffling on music till even a magician couldn't tell us apart.

I'm a part of him, but we're apart
We're apart but both part of the bigger thing.