Mostly

I miss the cigarettes

before bed in a cold night. 

I miss you waiting for me to undress, 

the way your hair danced 

among the cold perpetual wind.

Mostly

I miss how you whispered 

in my ears your favourite poems 

and how the tiny little words pierced 

my whole body,

as if it were the almighty rain

and its powerful drops.

I miss gazing at your freckled face

like gazing into a night sky filled with stars,

because

you had not only the stars 

but also the stillness,

the calmness, and the mystery

on your face, and not only there

but in your acts,

in the way you made things less boring,

over and over again.