The Shape of Someone I Miss I miss her in the quietest places. In mornings that begin slowly, with coffee warming my hands and a song filling the room, I sometimes wonder what her morning looks like. Perhaps it sounds strange to miss someone I haven’t stood beside. But maybe I miss the little moments that haven’t happened yet. A coffee shared somewhere. A place discovered by chance. A meal worth remembering. A painting we might stop to admire. A beautiful street where neither of us needs to say very much. She has a way of making ordinary things feel interesting. A certain color. A piece of art. The way clothes come together. The taste of something new. A place I’ve never seen before. Sometimes I notice these things and wonder what she would think. And then there are the cosmos— soft petals moving with the wind, quietly growing without asking for attention. Perhaps that’s why I like them so much. They don’t hurry to bloom. They simply grow where they are, letting the seasons take their time. I miss the conversations, the little stories, the ordinary pieces of a day that somehow become memorable. But I don’t need to turn missing someone into something complicated. Sometimes it’s simply: a song that brings back a thought, a cup of coffee that makes me smile, a place I’d like to see, a meal I’d like to share, and a cosmos blooming somewhere in the afternoon. Maybe someday I’ll look across a table with coffee between us, and somewhere outside there will be cosmos moving in the breeze. I won’t need to say much. I’ll just smile at how naturally the moment feels. Until then, I’ll keep finding little things worth sharing— a song, a painting, a beautiful place, a meal worth remembering, and every once in a while, a cosmos that makes me think of her. 🌸☕