I miss writing and I miss the silence. I miss the tears of a broken violence. I miss the grievance of a partner's reply. I miss the solitude of focused compliance. I miss the surprise and I miss the days when my thoughts were heavy on each page. I miss the darkness and I miss the balance of my broken heart graced with madness. I miss to suffice. I miss the lone long quiver of a solid profound line. I miss the absorption of the tune of the world. I miss twas and henceforth the blow and I miss what it feels like to grow... To grow through words To grow through thoughts To grow through the experiences Of feeling lonely and lost. I'm an addict unsure of a sober well being. I'm a narcissist feigning for a hollow fix drowning in egotism lacking the meaning of a solemn bliss. But more than anything, you are what I miss. Above it all, I long for the intoxication of your kiss.