A/N: Savannah's going to hate me.

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

I miss....

I don't miss you.

Really, I don't.

It's actually funny.

It's funny the things one misses.

Funny the things I miss.

I miss the sound of water running in the morning, when my alarm clock goes off.

I miss rolling over to turn it off, with the blankets beside me askew, and the pillows thrown on the floor.

I miss seeing the clothes that were hastily tossed on top of mine on the laundry bin across my room.

I miss the fog covered mirrors in the bathroom.

I miss not having enough hot water when I go to take a morning shower.

I miss the neatly folded towels on the toilet, accompanied by a note that said, "Sorry about the water."

I miss having to fight back a smile.

I miss the fresh flowers that were always beside the toaster.

I miss the scent of old spice at the breakfast table.

I miss having to fight over the morning newspaper.

I miss getting stuck with the lost and found section.

I miss the pictures that framed the fireplace's mantle.

I miss the shoes that were carefully placed besides mine, in the living room closet.

I miss the coat that was always buring my own.

I miss being late for work because I was being yelled at to tuck in my shirt.

I miss not having to lock the door.

I miss coming home to a warm house.

I miss the fire that was always ablaze during the evening.

I miss the sounds of clinging silverwear at dinner.

I miss walking into my bedroom and seeing a made bed.

I miss the sprig of lavender that was always carefully tucked beside my bed side lamp.

I miss crawling under blankets that were already heated.

I miss waking up in the middle of the night and finding that my pillows, along with the blankets, have been stolen.

I miss having to get up after I wake and shut the window because it's freezing in my room.

I miss having to creep silently through the house when I sneak to the kitchen to get a midnight snack.

I miss getting caught snooping in the fridge.

I miss the scowl given to me, along with the playful swat, followed by the soft laughter.

I miss the three-in-the-morning cups of cocoa and not having to say a thing.

I miss being forced to wake at seven o'clock sharp on the weekends.

I miss being grumpy.

I miss that pout.

I miss being forced to help apply sunblock, even in the middle of winter, when the sun was barely out.

I miss fighting over the keys.

I miss being yelled at when I started the car without buckling myself in the seat.

I miss the weekend trips into town.

I miss driving past this place and being able to not even give it a second thought.

I miss being able to wrap my arms around a breathing bundle of blankets.

I miss being able to lay next to that bundle on my bed, instead of on this cold, hard ground.

I miss being able to kiss actual skin, instead of this granite stone.

I miss being able to close my eyes and seeing the back of my eyelids, instead of those three little letters, followed by that name.

I miss not having to cry myself to sleep.

I miss..

I miss not having to miss you.