I miss the air so cold that it pierces.
I miss the stars so tiny that shone so brightly.
I miss the comforting thought that she was only a hop, skip, and a jump away,
and not a back flip, a plane ticket, a bus fare, a fire hoop, 10 hours later.
I miss holding her in my arms,
feeling as thought I help in some small way.
I miss the taste that lingered on my lips from a dimly lit coffee house in a small county.
I miss the people that I've known for such a short time,
but I'd jump over oceans for most.
I miss home.