I don't miss him sadly, the way you miss someone you love who's dead. I don't miss him sweetly, the way you miss someone you love when you're apart but you know you'll be together again. I feel about him the way you feel about something important like a set of keys that's missing -- anxious, even though you're pretty sure they'll turn up eventually. They have to. But nothing is going to be right until you find them, so your only choices are to pretend they're not lost and keep ignoring your growing anxiety until they show up on their own, or tear the house apart until you find them.