I still can’t sort any of my feelings.

Is it a longing? A lingering affection? Remaining adoration? Or… is it still love?

I found it fascinating — that in a room filled with hundreds of people, I still search for your eyes. I still question — will I encounter the warmth and sparkles that your lens used to radiate?

Or will I get to hear your honey-like voice; the one which, one time, used to throw witty jokes about myself as the context, or the one that, one time, used to offer me a hand?

Or will I get to see your just-scrubbed pair of brown shoes — the one, which one time, I used to inform the shoelaces were off?

Or will I get to perceive your response to my lame jokes or an odd story I used to throw randomly in the middle of our conversation?

Or will I once again realize your admirable figure — just like the time when you were always there —

by my side?