Longing

I miss you.

I miss you so much that I can't put it into words, but I am going to try. I'm going to try to explain how much I want to see you, to touch you, to hold you in my arms until the world falls away and there is only the two of us.

I miss you.

I miss you so much that it's as if the world has become muted because of your absence.

The colors of the rainbow are dulled. The sky is less blue that it should be. The sun and the moon and the stars have all lost their brightness. I hear a bird singing and can't help but feel that it is missing its clarity. A salsa band on the radio can't keep it's rhythm The roses in the garden don't smell sweet enough, the water I drink should be so much more refreshing than it is, and even the silk of my shirt feels wrong, as if the cool smoothness is somehow different, somehow less because you are not here.

I miss you.

I miss you so much that every woman I see looks like you.

I see the girl at the checkout counter at the five and dime. She seems to have your eyes. Those bright and shining orbs that dance with a magnificent inner light and shine out on the world.

I see a mother running after her child down the aisle of the supermarket. The look on her face is the same look of bemused aggravation I can see on your face as I say something foolish and you call me on it.

I hear a woman talking on the phone. Her voice suddenly has become yours; the same inflections and pauses, the same accent and timber, she even has the same laugh.

I see a woman standing in front of a lake. The wind is blowing through her hair and the sun is shining on her face. For a split second I think it might be you, then her husband wraps his arms around her shoulders. A touch of sadness passes through me. I wish I was holding you as he is holding her.

I miss you.

I miss you so much that if I close my eyes and reach out my hand it's as if I can touch you.

I feel the soft smile that comes to your face when I touch your lips. I can feel the fine lines and slight grooves. Your mouth becomes a tight line as you pull your lips inside and let the tip of your tongue wash over them.

I stroke my thumb up and down the side of your face, barely touching the skin. I trace tine circles around your cheekbone and follow the line of your jaw down to your chin. My fingers brush up against your lips again. This time they're moist and I slide over them, but I can still feel the tiny lines that make them so perfect.

A lock of stray hair falls across the back on my hand. I twirl it around my finger before I push it back into place. I think that someone once told me a woman's hair was her vanity. I wouldn't care if you went bald. If you lost all you hair tomorrow, if you became as bald as a melon, I would run my fingers across your hairless head and kiss every inch of skin.

I reach around your head and take hold of one of your ears. I pull and tug at it. I bend it and gently scrunch it up. I can feel it get warmer as the blood rushes into it. You smile broadly and sigh ever so softly...

I let my fingers drift over the rest of your body. I feel the subtle curves of your breasts. The flesh of your belly yields gently to my touch. I float my hands over the tiny, fine hair that covers your arms. I walk my fingers down your back and over the glorious two glorious hills that lie at the bottom. I tickle your feet and wiggle your toes. I massage you legs. I even very slowly, and very softly let my fingers explore your most sensitive and womanly of places.

I open my eyes and realize that you are not here. My fingers caress only the air in front of me.

I miss you.

I miss you so much that I wrote you this letter even though we have never met.

I do not know your name. I do not know your face. I do not know the first thing about you, and yet I still miss you.

I know that one day I will meet you. I know that some day I will look upon your face. I know that there will be a day when I will finally take you in my arms and hold you. But until then, I can only say that I miss you.

I miss you more than words can say.