Things we mean and not say

There are things that I won't tell you: of how I turn around and expect to see you there; Or that I hold out my hand expecting yours to clasp mine. Or of how I see the brightness of your eyes, or your smile, or the strength of your shoulders on people I see in passing. I won't tell you how my gaze lingers even when my brain is already convinced not one of them is you. I won't tell you any of that. I'll just tell you that I miss you.