I talk to you on the phone, sometimes
Sometimes I write you an email, you reply
You write me a letter, I mail one back
I still don't feel like we're in touch
I still miss you.
I'm still thinking of you. About you.
A lot of the time, I don't think at all.
A lot of the time, I think about me.
But some of the time, I think about you.
And when that happens, I miss you.
And I'm reminded why I love you.
And, then, when I think of you, I like to think that you're happy.
Because that thought makes me happy.
I miss you.
I love you.
Don't let that love be cheapened because it is shared.
Or because it sounds impersonal.
I mean it, and I mean it about you.