You know the only thing better than Ranbir Kapoor in a beard? You in a beard.
I miss your beard. I miss the way it feels against my fingers when I hold your face when I'm kissing you. I miss the roughness. I miss your eyes. I miss the way they look at me when we're in bed and you make me feel, for two seconds, like you can't see anything beyond me. I miss the way my eyes feel lit with fire when I return your gaze in those two seconds. I miss the raspy all-consuming quality of your voice when you look at me and ask me what you are supposed to do with me, naked, ten inches away from you, because you are legitimately not sure. I miss the way your voice gives me butterflies in my stomach and makes me want to merge our bodies. I miss the way I reach out to your face in those moments. I miss the way your beard feels against my fingers. I miss the way your beard turns me on. I miss your beard. I miss you.
Here I am, scratching the skin of my palms because my nails don't have your face to scratch, even though I know it largely annoys you when I do that.
You know what's better than remembering you and missing you?