...like a ghost misses tangibility, how it can only watch hopelessly as skin brushes against skin, fingers trace patterns on arms and backs, looks down at its own translucent wispy form and can think of just one word: incomplete.
...like a pet fish misses the sea, how its pathetic rectangular confinement and plastic plants cannot compare to the simultaneous thrill and comfort of home. torn miles away from the place it holds dearest.
...like a blind man misses sight, how he clings desperately onto the treasured remnants of colours, faces, moments that he'll never let go of, and how he replays them over and over in his mind's eye like a faulty dvd player.
come back. i promise i will try to be better company than anyone out there on that island could ever be.