I’ve gotten really good at missing people.
I keep the masterpiece of them painted on the inside my eyelids, and they barely ever drip down as tears. I tuck the manuscript of them just under my skin, and they barely ever break through as goosebumps.
I isolate myself with the reasons I love them, and they keep me warm. I light myself with the reasons they loved me, and it keeps me bright.
I’ve gotten really good at missing people.