It started with a day in February
when I wanted to kiss the corners of your smile,
to tangle my fingers in your tousled curls,
find all the greens in your eyes.
You said you loved me during a winter sunrise.

I love how perfectly my head fits
On your left shoulder when you hold me
And the way you cup my blushing smile in your hand,
But that's the least of what I miss.

My pillow no longer smells of your hair,

the musky boy-scent of late nights and action movies.

My shoes haven't had mud on them since you left,

and I haven't fallen asleep to the sun rising in months.

And though I loved being a part of your world,
I fell behind when you ran wild.

“Maybe someday,” I keep repeating,

and yet your back keeps retreating.