James.
I could say that word, that sweet-as-honey name over and over again.
Before you uprooted my life, no one would ever hear me say that name.
No one would even see my cheeks take on the color of rose petals if it weren't for you.
As I think back, to the times when I was a silent muse, I never even imagined what it would be like to love again.
To feel and taste and love again.
But I felt you. Not the hair of your host, your temporary residence.
I tasted you. Not the taste of those tender pale lips, nor the taste of your unblemished neck. That was not you.
And you know I loved you. I loved your soul in the same way I felt your soul and tasted it.
And I still do love you. And even though we are miles apart, I can still feel you and taste you.