I pass through the day yearning to see you, yet praying I don't. Scanning the passerbys, your face is everyone's. No-ones. I hear your voice, deep and invisible behind me in class, like a cruel mirage of the laughter we once shared. My hand still bears your imprint, my jacket today still had your distinctive smell embedded in the sleeve. Fatal little details.

Do you pass through the day thinking about me? Are you grieving too? Or have you locked yourself away in busyness and responsibility; determined to move on? Are there moments when you also catch yourself unable to breathe, flashbacks of happiness and Indian food swirling before your eyes? Of small city lights, scavenger hunts through your room, piles of green sticky notes in your car, or the feel of my fingers gliding across your arm. Was this all just a fantasy of my own invention, a beautiful thing of my imagination. Are you craving it, missing it, grieving it as well?

Do you miss me?