I miss you these days and wonder if you feel the same.
I recount your childish ways. We are a distant memory, yet to fade.
A spring of warming arrays! A particular emotion pairs with your name.
Your inquisitive gaze towards untold explanations upon my face.
I trace the coffee stains to ignore your passive displays.
Loose ends remain and it is an inviolable shame.
Now, with a settling blaze I am here to claim:
There is no one to blame. It is just painfully, too late.
There was a mutual role to play. To fate, we must obey.
You are the reason I stayed. But it is my bed, so I lay.
I miss you these days. After the January haze,
I have braved some change. Likewise, I pray.