by Lissette Diaz

I miss you, your face, and your Fred Flintstone feet. I miss the warmth and safety of your hugs. I miss all those stolen moments where I would wake up before you and stare at you sleeping so peacefully. Of all the things I miss about you, what I miss most... is your smell. You can think a million things about where and who I was, but I still miss the world of safety and comfort that existed on the slopes of your chest. It's the only place that's ever felt like home to me.


Lissette Diaz is currently invoicing the boredom of her life until something big happens.