Curtain Call

Room at the Fourth Floor – Heart Building

I miss the way he whispers my name. Blowing feathery kisses near my ears, upon my lips, marking a mundane affection on my cheeks. I miss the way we dance. Him, gently touching my waist like I was once vulnerable, never wanting to remember the broken me. I, caressing the back of his neck. We’re both leaning on each other’s forehead. I miss the way he holds my hand. Filling in the gaps, perfectly filling in the missing pieces. Making me feel complete. I miss the way he hugs me. From the back. Protecting my once vulnerable self, protecting me from the unknown reality happening behind me. And of course, I miss him. And all the possibilities he made me believe—that he would whisper my name softly, that he would make me dance again, that he will never let go of my hand, that he will hug me so tight, and kiss me…goodnight.

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