I. Miss. You. Three primal words. That stand alone perfectly. Until the words are crammed together into one heavy sentence. Or statement. Or declaration. Until these primal words fall from the voice of a broken being. They stand alone perfectly. But when the last letter molds the cracked lips of a fractured soul. Three primal words become murderous. I miss you, is severely homicidal because there is always a part of it that is left unsaid. A part that is branded with a truth so fierce it can not even be shared with a dandelion. A weed that only stays around long enough for the next warm breeze to breathe through the trees.