Today as I was getting coffee and was about to put some sugar in it, I remembered you laughing about me doing that to coffee. I liked that laugh and I missed it then. I wish you were there and we could have just laughed about my dumb habit.

In the evening as I was watching films about sex work I missed your commentary, your view. I miss you from next to me, I miss sharing the experience with you. This way, the films and articles devolve into some form of pure, concise knowledge of having seen or having read, without the feeling of understanding or creative thought. I remember watching the film you sent me about people in love with objects. It was so fascinating, so engaging. I was really happy that you sent it to me, that you thought of me. It was like a beautiful gift, and I was so happy to have received it. I remember how grateful I was and how fascinated I became about how we can share such topics and have engaging, meaningful conversation about them. I miss those gifts and I miss those conversations.

I want to hold your hand in the sun. I remember the first day at my new job, and your note that I look good in my outfit. I miss your presence, I miss your amazing insight, your gentle way of telling me what you think.