The Pulchritude in Missing You

I look around – you’re not here.

I watch the stars sparkle at night and wonder if you’re watching the same view, too.

I suddenly long for the warmth of your embrace – to feel your soul connected to mine.  

And I wonder if you miss me too.

I wonder if you feel the same way.

“Be patient,” my heart says.

And I try to be.

I miss you, can’t you see?

“You will meet again,” hope whispers.

And so we did.

It’s staring at your dark brown eyes that remind me where I am – that I’m home.

You’re my home.

It’s not peculiar. It’s pulchritude.