What I Miss Most.

What I miss:
My hands on his chest, looking into his smoke-filled eyes.
The feeling of my pinky on the small of his back. The hard, strong muscles he had.
Snuffling his warm neck.
Spoons.
Morning tea.
Dreams.
Him.
The deliciousness of him, our silliness, things we laughed at, what we had that no one else did.
Beautiful memories are what I have left of Henry. Pastor Bristol says, "Keep the best, and forget the rest."
I have never heard a sweeter voice than Henry's, telling me sweet dreams.