He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.

I miss everything about being with a man from the very intimate to the completely mundane. I miss the feeling of that rough beard on my cheek, a kiss in the neck. Such a stupid little thing but suddenly it is everything.

I’m surprised more suicide notes don’t read “I missed being touched.”

4 thoughts on “He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.

  1. I think mine would read that… But let’s not go there.
    I like that you should write something here everyday because it’s weird coming here only to find you haven’t posted in a while. I just want to know you’re OK… I worry.
    Hugs.

    Like

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