I sit here all by myself thinking of how much I want to share my coffee with you; how much I want to see you smile. I know you that you laugh every time you think of me, and my yearning for you grows stronger. The sugar cubes lie wasted just like the countless numbers of coffee lie untouched on the kitchen table. Your chair awaits your presence just like I do. Your crumpled towel lies on the floor just as you left it days ago. It hasn't dried completely, and I know you will complain once you are back. I long to hear your bickering over the fluffy piece of cloth. But I love the musky smell of you it has, which now slowly begin to fade. I wish you would come back soon.
I set the table each night and stare at the empty plates. It seems the morsel of food won't go down my throat. I have no taste left, no sense of your touch to cure me of the numbness. I yearn for you. Every time I go to bed, it gets colder. I miss your warmth. I miss the way your arms closed around me, the way you cuddled me close enough to gently nibble on my earlobes, the way you caressed my tummy. Your kisses brought back that burning desire within my soul to be devoured by you, to become one and whole again. I miss your touch.
My heart feels empty. I am waiting, and it seems to be endless. But they say its futile. You have left, and there is no coming back. Your cup will remain untouched, the chair wasted without you, your side of the bed, cold, and me; staring at the door.