The way she looks at me when she wants a kiss, but won’t ever say it.
The way she picks up the drop of coffee on the side of her cup with the smallest poke of her tongue.
When my heart and hands have been emptied of her, these are the things I remember.
No grand gestures, no fiery passion in the night. It’s these tiny little actions, that I’m not even sure I noticed at the time.
It’s these tiny things that fill my mind now, when I feel her absence.