I keep trying to memorize the way

your mouth curves when you say

"I love you."

It's fluid,

like the way the tears roll down my cheek

and around my lips when I can't find

the words to tell you how much I miss you.

Long distance has become negative

or almost derogatory.

For you and me, it's all there is.

I had the luxury of watching

the twist of your hips as they walked

and the movement of your hair as it was caught in the wind.

Now, you're only eight hours away,

but in reality that means more months

I don't get to feel your warmth.

I miss the way your fingers

would get tangled in my hair,

but I'd beg you to put them back

simply because it meant I could feel you were there.

I miss when I would beg

to be carried by you

and your shoulders would slump as you sighed,

but smiled, then held out your arms.

I miss how I could feel

the angle of your shoulder blades beneath my fingers

as I worked out the kinks and knots

from the stress that I no doubt placed upon you.

I miss the solid sound of your voice

hitting my eardrums without the assistance of a speaker

that would alter the frequency and create a stutter.

So I'm trying to memorize the way

your mouth curves when you say

"I love you."

It's not enough to just hear the words,

but to know the meaning

and realize the significance

of who is saying it

and why it's being said.

It's spoken for me,

for my benefit.

And I'll always have a reply,

because I know you're watching me

when I say

"I love you too."