Little Things I Miss

           I miss how he used to leave his socks all over the house. I miss watching him pretend to breakdance. I miss how he used to walk around singing Broadway. I miss how he’d check the contents of the fridge every five minutes. I miss the sound of him sharpening knives. I miss all his crazy antics. I miss cleaning his room with him. I miss him saying “mmhmm”. I miss fighting with him about who gets to use the computer. I miss his plaid shorts. I miss all his camera talk. I miss his enthusiasm over his pictures. I miss the way he would squint when he was thoughtful. I miss the way he would close his eyes when he laughed silently. I miss the way he used to cock his eyebrow. I miss his somewhat lopsided grin. I miss the sound of his voice. I miss those nights when we stayed up until two in the morning talking about life. I miss the attentive way he listened to others. I miss watching him practice his signature. I miss how obsessed he was with his hair. I miss dancing with him.

            Some days, I just flat-out miss him.