No, I don't imagine your arm wrapped around my waist and pulling me closer under comforters.
No, I do not think about your hand on my hip when you pass me by in the hallway.
I can not think about what it's like to be pulled from depths with your delicate declarations of love for only me.
I won't spend time wishing for the soothing that would come after anger and isolations.
No, I don't envision or feel or desire or manifest.
Thank you to my cowardice and delusions.