When he asked how it felt to me, the watercolors bleeding from the paintbrush he held in his familiar hands and onto the paper, I wanted to tell him it felt like he was sleep and I was an insomniac. I wanted to tell him that I feel like I’ve lost something but I can’t remember what it is and I still look for it all the time.. I wanted to tell him that some nights, months before this, when the sound of his breathing stirred next to me I would lie there with my fingers laced behind my head, pleading with something bigger than me to make him  stay with me forever, to not let us change to the point of unfamiliarity, to maybe, just maybe even let us become stagnant-let us stop evolving as separate people-if it meant we would be the rare twosome that would still wake up, tangled in each other and feel the corners of our lips stretching toward the morning sky.

I instead stared dumbly at him, blankly. Right shoulder moving towards my ear, one time, and said, “I guess I just miss you, is all.