I still miss you sometimes.
I miss the way we were;
I miss having someone so close to me with whom I could share my hopes and my fears;
I miss staying up late nights having someone to spur me on,
Or to share dreams with the next day.
I miss being able to tell you the things I know you'd love -
My exploits as an assassin, the glassware I just bought.

I miss your voice, your laugh, your face,
Your manner of speaking, your sureness, and sometimes, other parts...
Most of all I miss just having you dependably there.

So pour out a drink for the people we were, once upon a time, and six months ago,
In a land faraway, right in our houses.
Nothing too fancy - just a cola, or a lemonade,
For I'll be there, elsewhere, too, glass of something suitably strange in hand -
Elderflower or something Korean, perhaps -
Doing the same, remembering what we had, and what we lost,
Quietly moistening the ground.

But the point still stands -
No matter where I search, or who I'm with,
No matter how close I ever get to anyone else,
I'll never have with them what I had with you.
Thank the gods for that.