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I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I fucking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I’d see her again James Frey, My Friend Leonard
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imperfectio: Sapphire by Sophie Gregory on Flickr.
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thefoodswag: (via 25 New Ways to Use Sriracha: bonappetit.com)
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