You’ll never see this, but I still want you to know that I miss you. You’d tease, “How much? This much?” as you extend your arms as far as they could go. Well, I miss you more than that. Everyday…is a good day, but never a great day. Not even when I go to the pizza place, the one we always vowed we’d go in when a slice was less than four dollars, and the slice is right out the oven. Even with the scent of goopy cheese and fresh tomato sauce wafting about my nostrils, I’m not hungry. Because I miss you. It’s the worst when twilight falls and my mock cheer retires for a moroseness you wouldn’t recognize. I gaze out the window of my living room, when that plaid easy chair and British comedy on PBS offer no comfort, and I look up. The lambent glow of that flea market lamp dims when I stare up at the constellations we always lazily traced with our fingers. I carefully examine each star for you, sifting through twelve layers of night sky to reach a hand out and grasp you. If not you, your crooked smile, or your obnoxious chortle, or your soothing tone whenever I come to you a mess. I only find one of these when there is a gibbous moon, your favorite due to its imperfection; without this particular moonshine. Nothing but a sense of anticlimactic outrage.