its a beautiful night outside. one of those nights that screams for you to drive in a convertible with the wop down to let in the warm wind through it's full moon illuminated black. fields of stars spread out on the screen of sky with crickets and those summer bugs that buzz like the dickens as their soundtrack. smells that have been missed all through the long fall and winter culminate in their sweetness and all around earthiness. it feels good to be alive. it feels right to be alive and able to take in a night like this.

and, as it seems to be more and more, i have but one complaint. that you are not with me. all this created perfection surrounds me and fills my eyes and ears and lungs and nerves underneath my skin with some sort of old old magic. but the spell is incomplete. as am i. because you complete me. and i am missing you. i am missing you, tonight.

and while you sleep now, i say a small prayer of thanks. because even though i wish you were here to see and hear and smell and feel this with me, i would rather miss you with no relent, than not have ever had you to miss at all.