When your time is cut short, you learn to appreciate every second you have. And so it is with you. We only have moments, if that, to laugh, to talk, to smile, to inquire about the wellbeing of the other. Somehow in those few moments you've collapsed into a niche in my heart and planted a flag in the ground, proclaiming it as your own. When we miss our time, I miss you. When I don't see you, I miss you, like the you in your niche is tapping your fingers impatiently against your knee, wondering what's taking us so long.
And sometimes I think it doesn't mean anything. But then I'm leaving, hands full, and you're walking past. You catch my eye and smirk, and every part of me wants to drop everything I'm holding and wave. But I can't. So settle for trying to give you a smile back, though it turns out to only be half the one I'm giving you in my heart. But I hope you know anyway.