As I type, I look down at the surface of my left hand and see writing that was put there by my special someone. It is the little things, as well as the big things, that keep my mind on the one I care about the most. She makes me worry when I know I shouldn't. She wrote on my hand yesterday and even though I've washed my hands and showered and what not, it is still there. It was one of those permanent pens which hurt a little when she was pushing the pen into my hand.

It is that feeling that tightens up inside and the only remedy is her. When I say I miss her, I do. When someone other than her asks about her, I think about her even more. Maybe that's why I'm so exhausted; I'm busy thinking of her. She's my squeezable teddy bear.