Kenrick Fischer Artistries

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Disconnected

I miss the way your hand fit in mine.

I miss catching the subtle aroma of your shampoo as you moved about.

I miss the way we touched bums through the night, each seeking our own space but remaining connected.

I miss the way we hugged, snuggled on the couch, rested in bed; always with your head rested on my chest.

I miss you.