My love. Life without you seems such a waste. When I don't have news from you I get so cold. Even if it's only for a week. I feel like I've been torn apart from a half of myself. Sometimes I know you feel it too, but not that strong. I wonder if you resent my tears or my pain at the moment I'm cracking up. When you say you understand, I just want to get closer to you and lay in your arms. I never did it, you never let me. That brings so much frustration. I miss with you what I never wanted to give to other men - cuddles on a sunday morning, love when it's raining outside, little escapes on holidays, faithful truth, unconditional trust, unexpected physical encounters. I never let anyone touch me the way I want you to touch me. I guess it's because it's your domain and I want no one but you to hold the key. I'm all yours, honey. But you remain so distant even when your voice betrays your feelings. When you sit on the couch, I sit on the bed. When I sit on the couch, you sit on the bed or on the floor. When you're tired and pass your hands on your neck, I wish it was mine. So simple things I can't even hold on to. So many people wish they could take a step or a hand further, I didn't even have a the first ever step. I don't hold your hand. I only steal you light kisses on your cheeks. I can pick up your smiles and laughs, so. I hold onto them so dear. I don't want to let it go. But even if our souls / minds / spirit / thoughts, call them whatever you want, are meeting and touching, our bodies are not - that's the prolonging, though, give it a try. Give us a try. Please. Forever yours, Missy.