I Missed You, Princess

When I open the door

and you see me,

your tail wags so wildly

it looks like you might lift off the bed.

You scramble over blankets,

eyes locked on me like I’m everything,

and launch yourself straight into my arms.

I bury my face in your fur,

you cover me in kisses

like you’re making up for every second apart.

I hold you tight and say it—

“I missed you, Princess.”

But “I missed you, Princess”

isn’t nearly enough.

It’s too small for what I really mean.

Because what I’m really saying is:

You’re the best thing that ever existed.

You’re the reason I come home.

You’re the quiet I can’t find anywhere else.

I mean:

You give me meaning

when the world empties me out.

You remind me of who I want to be—

patient, gentle, someone who always comes back.

You remind me of who I really am—

the one who will sit on the floor just to hold you,

who loves harder than they admit.

You remind me that I’m capable of being enough for someone.

When I say “I missed you, Princess,”

I’m handing you

all the tired, frayed pieces of me

that only you know how to hold.

I’m saying thank you

for waiting.

For loving me without question.

For making me believe

I’m someone worth running to.

But I don’t say all of that.

I just kiss your head,

hold you close,

and hope you hear

everything else in my voice

when I whisper “I missed you, Princess,”

and don’t let go.