Rhapsodies of the Barefooted Gypsy

Miss is an understatement

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January 22, 2012

Dearest Ali,

I just got back from smoking a cigarette outside. I was freezing, it felt as though my hands were that of an ice block. My ears felt like it was going to fall off. I scratched my nose and even the tip of it was very cold, then I was reminded. I was reminded of how your nose felt when it touches mine. I miss it, those nights when we were both sitting outside our bench even on a cold, winter night.

We didn’t care even if we were both freezing, we didn’t care nor complain even when everything around us is cold. We just cared that we were sitting next to each other, holding hands, giving each other long, soft kisses.

It was enough.

It was enough to keep ourselves cozy and warm.

I miss those nights, no, wait. “Miss” is an understatement. I crave for those nights, it is everything that I long for. In fact it is everything that I think about. It’s like there’s a video clip of us kissing and smiling at each other, and staring deeply at one’s eyes playing in repeat inside my head.

And when it’s time for me to crawl back to bed, I miss how you keep me warm. Even when we were naked in my bed, your embrace is more than enough to keep me warm.

Do you still think of those days, and nights, and all the times that we were together?

Of course you don’t. If you do, you’ll be right here, keeping me warm at this very moment.

But I do.

I miss your naked body beside mine.

Then again, “miss” is an understatement.

I crave for it.

I long for it.

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