There were many things I missed about you:
You, our dinners together, the dishes you prepared for us, your scent, the sadness in your eyes, your voice, your sarcasm, the shadow you cast on the wall, myself when I am with you, your feigned indifference, your keen observations on the human condition, your sense of security in who you are. The security I feel when you’re around. Your funny jokes, the idiosyncrasies of your English, the grayness of your soul, the long silence that gives the stories you narrate a cadence I imagined our ancestors must have utilized to enthrall their listeners while they gathered around the storytellers, the tears that fall from your eyes for no apparent reason, your logic of seeing the world, your voice, your ready solutions to almost all problems we encounter.
Your love for life.