It's a secret, but I believe our bones were made to meet:

When I sleep my back always feels hollow, my feet feel awkward and my lips feel blue. 

Because you see, I have this insane theory that you are a puzzle that was separated from me at birth. That through seas, land, and time we have been getting lost and found, but now that I can’t see you, nor have you, my soul shouts for you. 

My bones are constantly protesting the lack of your arms around me, my tongue throws tantrums for not knowing how you taste, and my hair becomes straight for not feeling your fingers. 

And it's that my secret of death is that I know in the life that remains in my organs that when my lips find you and kiss you. It will be like the click of the vault, like finding the keys in the pocket of your jacket and like seeing with glasses. 

And that at last, I'll be able to have a restful night because my feet will have a north, my vocabulary will have a name, my eyes will have its landscape and my heart will have its safe haven. 

TA.