Missed Connection Ann Arbor: Flowers (A book I didn't take the time to read)

Do you still have the cigarette paper from two summers ago?
I still have your memories… my memories… I think of you every day.
I wish I could see you like we used to, I think I screwed that chance from ever happening again. I hope I’m wrong.

I miss you.
I miss your pixie-elfish hair
I miss your firecracker persona
I miss how you keep me on my feet
I miss gazing at the stars with you, on a blanket, in some open field or behind my house
I miss your quirks, the way you light your smokes, the way you shake your head when you’re wound up/stressed out, your full out laugh that makes you tear up
I miss your legs, your fingers, your hands, your ears, your lips
And I miss how you curl up next to me
I hate sleeping without you

You once told me I had the most callused hands of anyone you’ve been with…
I lost those calluses for a while with you, maybe I became too soft for you.

Now my hands are harder, I wish you would feel them again.

Note from the Chief Bottle Finder: Sloughing off some of the rough edges isn’t always a bad thing; it’s the resulting softness that brought about this sincere, heartfelt message. Let’s hope your heart’s desire saw this then, or sees it now.

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