I want to get used to your voice. I want it to fill the pitter-patter of the rain, I want it to fill the emptiness in between songs shuffling, I want it to fill all I hear. If the day should come where I can no longer see you, I want to know it’s you without a doubt.

I want to get used to your touch. I want to feel it in the morning rays that rouse me from my slumber, I want to feel it in the wind that ruffles my hair, I want the warmth that is only from you. If the day should come where I can no longer see you, I want to know it’s you undoubtedly.

I want to get used to your presence. I want to know it’s you without having to turn around, I want to know it’s you without needing my eyes to tell me so. I want to know you.

I want to know everything about you.

All over again.

I want to know the curves of your face intimately. The shape of your eyes, the way your cheeks are chiselled, the knots your eyebrows make. I want to know the sound of your voice personally. The highest and lowest pitches before your voice breaks, the way it cracks in the mornings, the roundness as you pronounce certain words.

I want to know you closer. So much closer.

All over again.