Everywhere You Go, So Does My Home

You bring me with you everywhere you go. You are my home. Being held by you feels more comfortable and warm than any blanket-on-a-couch-in-my-own-home ever will. You envelope me. I miss things we never got a chance to do. I play them out in my mind, forming them perfectly so that someday they may be a reality. I imagine the jokes I'd make on vacation and the way you'd kiss me after saying something particularly sweet. I think about you holding me while falling asleep, 3000 miles away from where we normally gravitate and feeling like there's no other place I would or should be. You are the only home I'll ever want. Without you, there is no home. Just numerous places to sleep, never enjoying the simple moments I used to relish. I try to leave this place untouched, as though nothing has changed. And truly, nothing has but the absence of you and this hole in my chest. This aching pain that never dulls for a second. So everything has changed. Everything and nothing. Everything is different when you're not here but you remain everything to me.