Darling, it’s 1:10 AM, and I’m still awake—thinking about you. It’s ridiculous, really, how there isn’t a single moment that I don’t miss you. But what else can I do? I keep replaying the three voicemails you left me, over and over again. They’re all I have left of you. How are you now? Do you ever think about me too? Do you miss our late-night talks—the way I read you bedtime stories, the way I made you laugh when you were sad? Do you still remember the silly tales about Juan and Pedro? I miss your giggles, your poetry, the way you made the world feel softer just by being in it. I wish we could talk again, like we used to. I miss you so much. And I’m still hoping you miss me too. (lamuerte—tomydeadpoetry)