You're staring out the window that spans the entire length of the wall. Stars are sprinkled across the heavens and you can't help but appreciate how beautiful it is, despite the bleak feeling that's been spread over your shoulders like a threadbare blanket for the past handful of days.
You chance a glance back at the bed that acts as centerpiece for the room to ensure that his figure still lays sprawled under the paper-thin sheet.
It is.
He's still there.
You can't be certain enough of what will happen in the future. Things always look so melancholy when you really stop to think about them, and you've had far too much time to do that, and maybe, you reflect, it's a sign that you should be discovering activities that don't involve watching the trees beyond the pane of glass that is separating your presence from the rest of the world.
You inhale a shuddering breath and are slightly shocked to realize that the heat cascading down your cheeks is a teardrop, and you look back to him, and in that instant you feel something that is everything and nothing all at once.