When I miss you, it's never about missing you completely, as a whole.
I don't look back and think of how I miss you. I don't reminisce of the good and the bad. And I don't miss you as a person, who you were or who you are.
I miss the stolen fragments that occurred between one moment and the next.
These scattered memories align out of place, paradoxically, in my mind. Because it is only through this reckless, jigsaw way of still wanting you, that you and I could ever make sense.