It Has Been A Year

It has been a year since I have seen his face.
   I remember watching him sleep while the moonlight caressed his face.  I would be consumed with pure adoration for this man.  I used that time to memorize every curve of his face and all of the furrows the day had brought him.  I also memorized the sharp glow in his eyes and the scent of his skin.  His exhales were the sweetest of all fragrances.  My love saturated every part of him.
It has been a year since I have heard his voice.
   His voice had the ability to make anything under the sun sound primitive. I remember being able to depict the true tone from the friendly inflections.  His voice also had a dark chord in his throat that he would choose to lash me with without warning.  I would receive the blows with the sensation like the crack of a whip.
It has been a year since I have felt his touch.
  I longed for his touch all of the time.  When he would touch me, I could not feel the emotion behind it.  There was no emotional security that followed. I constantly fantasized feeling beautiful in his embrace, feeling the warmth of his breath on my neck, and his hands on my bare body. But not even the dreams would meet me half way.
  Throughout the year of no sight, sound, or brush from him, he quickly became the deepest and darkest regret that I would allow obsession to leave me with only hoping the memories of him would fade away with the smoke from my cigarettes.
It has been a year.
I light a cigarette.
I pick up the phone.
I dial his number.
...ring....ring....
"Hello?"