I miss the touch

There are things you miss and regret, but then again are there?

I miss the touch, the love and the gaze.

I miss the flare, the scent and the feel.

I miss the moments, the lunches and the silences...

and...

I miss nothing.

I am the loving touch, the omnipresent scent and the eternal silence myself.

For if I wasn't then, how could I feel them so clearly?

I am that in which they appear.

I am that which allows them to appear.

I am that which is not.

I am not.