Him.

I don't miss him. I don't think I do, at least. But I can't help but think about the days we would sit, cuddled up together, in his room while we watched TV. I can't help but think about his touch. The way it made my stomach flip but also calmed my nerves. His presence alone was enough to put my anxiety to rest. I miss that. The feeling of him. Just him in general. I won't reach out, though. It's not like it would do us any good. He wouldn't respond, anyways. But, damn, do I miss those days. The ones that we didn't fight on, that is. The ones that we spent laughing together, or the ones that he would comfort me while I cried or ranted about how fucked my family is. I could use a bit of encouragement from him right about now. He always knew just what to say. "You'll get out of there," he would say. "Things will get better and we can move far away from this hell hole. And we won't look back." He would hold me as I broke down, crying in his arms. I miss that. I miss him.