mothwing | XLIV

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then, despite of space, I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay;
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee,
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah, thought kills me, that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan;
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

The house is so empty without you and I do not dare entering the basement because you won't be there and I am teary enough as it is. Silly, isn't it?
You can't estimate how much I miss you, and I can't express it properly. But then, you know me, and if I am willing to dig through the entirety of Shakespear's sonnets to find the one that fits, it's probably a clue.

I miss you.

... Saturday, then.

I need a mug of hot chocolate.