I don't just miss you at 2am,
when the quiet gets too loud —
I miss you in the noise of noon,
lost inside a crowd.
I miss you when I'm laughing
at a joke you'd say much better,
I miss you folding into sentences
I wish I could've sent you —
no, meant for you, only you.
I miss you constant, never lost,
not some nighttime, weak-hour ghost.
You're the missing in the morning,
you're the missing I miss most.
It's not the dark that makes me ache,
it's every hour, every place —
a version of my whole day
that's just missing your face.
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