she looked at the note on my wall and asked me if i read it every night before i went to bed. i told her no, that sometimes i don't even remember its there, but i never told her how often you pass through my thoughts or anything about you; how for a while, you didn't even seem real anymore because it had been so long since your voice last proved your existance to me, or how i believe you to be a blessing. i never told her how hard i cried that last night in november, or how leaving the airport was the longest drive home ever. i never told her how much i loved you for exactly who you are. so i thought about you, and i spoke with you without hearing your voice, and i wrote about you. in your reply i never understood the last two lines and they linger in my head stretched out like tripwires that i have been sumbling over for days. all i know is that i miss what is too far out of reach to grasp.