At first glance, it may appear as though your soul is no longer tightly intertwined with mine. When sobs escape my cracked lips, you are no longer in the tears swirling in my eyes; my heart no longer bleeds out for you; you no longer make me tremble with concupiscence. However, you are still mine in the most unobtrusive of ways. You lie still in the crevices. You still possess the ability to make my breath hitch in my throat and my cheeks flush an innocent shade of crimson. You are the stitches weaved in and out of my skin—the ones that repair my split seams.