It’s raining, which of course makes me think of you. I’m getting that strange feeling that I typically get when we’re completely in sync with each others longing for the other. I want to text you, check up and make sure everything is going okay. But it would just be another excuse to contact you, among the many I’ve made. Really, what I want to tell you is that I still sleep with your teddy bear and wear your clothes to bed, the ones I’ve been “meaning to give back to you.” I want to tell you that I think of you every day. That I constantly come across new things that I want to show you, things to experience with you, places to go with you, food you would love. I miss you. I know I told you that I was okay with you moving on from our perfectly dysfunctional love. I even encouraged it. But the truth of the matter is I’m not okay with it at all. According to everyone I confide in about us, this will fade and someone new (“someone better”) will come along. By now I should be feeling some sort of hope or preparedness for new love. But I don’t want new love. I want our love. It was so comfortable and effortless and a brief glance was all it took to express every word we couldn’t articulate. It was playful and exciting but mature and grounded at the same time. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought or said. It was you and me, in a way that only we understood. I’ve never felt more safe than I did with you. We’re so right together. So I guess all I need is to look at you again and feel you looking back. Then, you’ll know.