Taste.

That’s what’s missing. 

No maybe it’s the sight. Her face.

But It can also be touch. The smell of her hair. 

Or her “Bunny, aajao” calls in the morning.

I never think about this when she’s here. And it’s fascinating to think how her mere presence saves me from so much torment.

For example,

I haven’t spoken a word since hours. Usually, I am fond of silence but not this eerie one. 

Fucking hell, let it be an awkward silence. Let it be that she’s journaling downstairs so she expects a little silence. Let it be that she’s talking to the kids upstairs, so I have to be a little quiet.

But not this. Not the one where I say a lot to myself in my head, but no words are spoken. I despise this silence.

She’s in the flight now so I have to wait a little more to hear her voice again. Time passes so slow when I’m waiting for her. 

So slow, and silent.