“Missed you. I fucking missed you.” A tear slips down my cheek, the kind I’ll never mind shedding. “Missed you so much,” I tell him. And it’s true. In the three weeks of healing, of finding myself, of becoming the man I want to be for him and myself, saying goodnight and sleeping down the hallway while longing for his arms was a battle. I wanted to return to him whole, even though I knew he would have taken me in pieces.
