I Miss...

I miss the smell of her hair.  After the day has passed, after the scent of her shampoo has blown away, and it's just the smell of her hair, each strand brushing my face, the occasional end tickling my nose.  It's a light smell, quite unlike perfume.  She doesn't need scents to mask her natural smells.

I miss the delicate touch of her toes against mine as we sit facing each other, or as I hold her in my arms.  She has adorable toes, much better maintained than mine because she doesn't tromp around wearing combat boots all day.  They're not twee, but dainty, proportional and fitting but still delicate.  She danced when she was younger, and her feet have the dancer's look.

I miss the soft sigh of contentment she occasionally makes when she's sleeping, curled up close to me.  I even miss the heat of her beside me, though it sometimes makes sleep impossible.  I miss the little mumbling noises she utters when she's dreaming.  I don't expect her to dream of me; I just miss the dreaming.

I miss waking up, bleary-eyed as I almost always am, rubbing my eyes into focus and seeing her sitting at my desk, her back to me.  I miss her turning when she hears me wake up and giving me a grin which chastises me gently for being a sleepy head.  Then she turns away again, letting me make the decision to get up or stay asleep.  Guess what my decision usually is?

I miss the sound of her footsteps in the hall.  It's good to have someone in the house who doesn't tromp.  My family are all heavy on our feet; I'm probably the lightest on my feet, actually, and I'm far from graceful.  She can be heard, but in bare feet, she has light footfalls.  I miss hearing them, even if she's not coming toward me, even if she's going to somewhere else.

I miss that little smile that's just for me.  I miss the laugh that comes more and more easily and is for everyone, the laugh that erases damage and says things might be okay after all.  I miss the critical crinkle of her left eye that I swear she got from me, since she didn't do it the first time we met.  Or maybe I just didn't notice then.  It's not a nasty look, just a look which says, "Don't give me any bullshit, okay?"  I miss giving her bullshit just to see that look.  I miss how she's getting pretty good at slinging some of it back at me.

I hear her voice often enough, but I miss hearing it in person.  The slight drawl she affects when she's mocking my Southern roots.  The way her lips form vowel sounds suggestively when she's teasing.  The drop in volume when she says certain things, even now, like she's afraid someone might hear her.  That Valley-Girl thing she does when she's intentionally being ditzy.  I wish she'd stop talking quite so much like a moron sometimes, but I miss it anyway.

I miss her arms around me.  I miss her body against mine.  I miss all of it.  But that's okay.  I can wait.  I won't miss it forever.  Not forever at all.