I miss you sore

Lying with the brown duvet, silver-gray blanket and two cats up against me, against the cold, listening to the electric train engine in the shunting yard.
I'm going to take myself back to sleep without any form of tablet, their time is up.
Saw this photo, by accident on my iPad, that I took on 20 March. I'm experiencing longing. No, it's more than that. I'm missing with soreness; hmmmn, or is that sorely missing? No: I miss you sore.
To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness, wrote Bertrand Russell.
I am happy. Deeply so.