I miss you tonight, and I know I’m not the first to feel this way, and I doubt I’ll be the last.
Sometimes I wonder what you told her to make her fall in love with you.
You always had a way with words that made me want to write you down on every scrap of paper I had. Then when you took off the first time, I bled all of the compliments you paid me into my bathroom towels, and burned the poems you inspired, and I wanted to tell you not to come back but the hands of loneliness wrapped around my throat and wouldn’t release me until you came around again.
A Rambler In Bloom 