I talk about you sometimes like you’re still a part of this life I live, as if you are the soy milk in my coffee, the whipped cream on my hot chocolate, and the leaves in my tea. I still get high on thoughts of swift kisses and sweaty palms and tension in our eyes. I still crave your aggressive push onto your bed and desirous kisses and wandering hands. I don’t think you will ever miss me in the way I still ache for your touch. I don’t think you will ever look at me the way I see you.
Words by Ming D. Liu