I'm caught in the moment - A little bit lost, a little bit torn, a little bit broken. I'm thinking back to the times I spent with you in your room - our little "apartment." We practically lived there for months whenever I'd fly over to visit. I know where (almost) everything is - Everything I need, that is. I know where the coffee grinder is placed, where the coffee beans are, where the portable gas is, and the lighter. I know where to find the Stevia and I know where to place the coffee after it's done. The mornings became so routine and I liked that they did. I liked how I knew that I was going to wake up next to you, and how waking up beside you felt like home. I grew accustomed to your scent, the cold night air, the weight of the blanket, your arms pulling me close. The first 2-3 weeks back in Singapore were aways the hardest, having to get used to being alone again. I miss the mornings where we'd sleep in and have no reason to leave the bed; we spent many a day like this, just getting used to finally having the other person around. I miss the nights where we'd cook dinner together, talk for hours on end and I'd fall asleep while you watched movie after movie on Netflix till you fell asleep as well. I miss camping under the stars with you - even though your back hurt after just one night in the garden. We brought books to keep us company, but we were mostly just cuddling, laughing, talking and being plain silly together. I miss downing Moscato with you, laying in hammocks, listening to the songs on your Spotify playlist and watching the stars in silence. I always felt so small in those moments - and in those moments, I recognised that we were merely specks of dust in the vastness of the universe. I knew that no matter where you were in the world, we'd always be connected because we're looking at the same sky - even if you were 16 hours and a thousand dollars away by plane. I never counted the hours or cared for the money. I wouldn't choose to spend a few minutes away from you, even if I could.