Missing you

Being out of touch with you is a very quiet, small, twingy kind of pain.

It forms an interior background to my hours and days, casting a dull gray shadow over every place, every person, everything in my path.

Now I know where references to the beloved as the sun come from. Absence makes the world grow dimmer, cloudy, ashen.

This is where I place these unbidden, unutterable realities of mine. Oh, to bask in the glory of your magnificent affection!

But even the weather is joining me today, going from slate skies to thunderstorms.

I am missing you, my beloved.