a friend wrote for another; one of the sweetest things
I miss talking to you, and having you around. I miss going down to the Tate with you. I miss going to the Open Air Theatre in the park with you. I miss teaching you the guitar. I miss the way your hand always manages to find mine. I miss letting you win on Fifa, you getting annoyed and asking for a rematch where I end up beating your sorry arse (I’m still waiting for the day where you beat me properly). I miss you falling asleep on me on days in. I miss staying in with you and drinking ridiculous amounts of tea with you on cold, wet days. I miss going to the park with you. I miss you fixing my awful cooking messes. I miss stealing kisses from you. I miss the way you must have certain things done in a specific way, your little OCD. I miss going into town with you. I miss going to Waterstones with you. I miss our Monmouth sessions in Covent Garden. I miss going shopping with you. I miss your strange, yet cute sense of humour. I miss the way you cannot spell to save either one of our lives. I miss your laugh. I miss the way you always apologise for the silliest things. I miss your advice and your lectures. I miss going running with you. I miss comforting you, and forcing you to talk about what’s bothering you. I miss you stealing my jumpers. I miss you watching the football with me. I miss you coming to my matches. I miss the way you fit so nicely into my arms. I miss swapping music with you. I miss the way you try to be stubborn, but never manage to hold it. I miss the way you say you miss me.