Hollow
She misses runningtrippingskipping over the golden grains of the sandy seashore, picking the prettiest sea shells as the foamy waves brought them in only to reunite them with the deep ocean floor.
He misses drawingsketchingpainting the lean lines of her legs and the wild waves of her hair as she abandoned herself and ran into the violent waves, chucklinggigglinglaughing like the tinkling of windchimes on a stormy day.
She misses the exhaustion that accompanied the climbingsoaringflying over the highest of mountains, watching world beneath her and the worries within her shrinking, becoming smalltinyinsignificant.
He misses the warmth of her flaming body on a coldwindytempestuous night as the wind howled and shrieked around their little tent, threatening to sacrifice the lot to mother Nature and her band of holy ruffians.
She misses the tinglyshiverybutterflies that pitterpattered down her spine and in her stomach as she caught sight of his slender muscular frame zooming ahead atop his broomstick as he searched for the slyshiny snitch that danced its escape.
He misses the sweetsoftsilkysmooth touch that begins with the side of his face and spins a trail of fire and ice down his chest, stomach and hips, and the whispery kisses that follow on the rare stolen nights they spend together at the Room of Requirement.
She misses his hurried declarations of love and slow seductive murmurs as they rolled around on a messypricklychilly field of grass with nothing but a threadbare blanket to cover them as they huddled together, staring in wonder at the stars that glowed above them.
He misses loving her, and she misses loving him too.