The worst part about missing someone is forgetting the little things, the things you once loved the most about them. It hurts me when I realize I can't remember the way he smelled. His smell was the thing that made me feel so safe as he wrapped his arms around me and I buried my face in his chest. When he wasn't home, I would sleep in his sweatshirt so that his smell would still be wrapped around me. Then I start to forget the way his hazel-green eyes used to sparkle as he smiled at me. I can't see the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughs anymore. I can't remember the butterflies I felt when he ran his fingers across my skin, his strong hands grasping my sides as he lifted me up for a bear hug. I'm starting to forget what it sounded like when he said my name. I can't feel his warmth anymore, the warmth that kept me comfortable all those snowy nights. I'm starting to forget how happy I felt just staying in and laughing over a bad movie with him. And the worst part is forgetting how soft his kisses were. How my entire body would fall into his lips and I would forget that there was an entire world out there, because all of a sudden, his kiss was my entire world. There is only one thing that hasn't changed: that he's still my first thought every morning when I wake and my last before I drift off to dreamland.