His scent still lingers in the bed. It smells faintly of ripe blackberries and aftershave. But he isn't there anymore, she knows. When she turns over, his side of the bed will be cold. Only the scent left to remind her of the night they shared. His kisses trailing her collarbone, his hands in her hair; their bodies entwining. She faintly remembers a whisper in the night, "I love you". He isn't the type to stay long, but he will return. Maybe in a day, a month, a year. He always does. With a faint smile, she goes to sleep.