Tonight, I miss your touch. The way you would use your fingers to etch little hearts and words onto my skin like all the tattoos we both wanted me to get. How we’d randomly squeeze each other’s hand, while we held them, as a silent, momentary “I love you.” I even miss things as little as your leg winding around my leg, as if you were just trying to say “You’re mine” with every inch of your immaculate body. I’m even beginning to miss your more intimate touches, like lightly tugging my hair as you ran your fingers through it, and any way you’d touch me when I was being intimately submissive to you. Every little graze of your fingers and lips drives me absolutely wild, whether they have naughty intent or loving intent, and I cannot describe the ways I miss them and you in general, alike.