Why do you toy with me? You're not really here, but why can I still feel you?
I can still feel you breath, the way your chest rises and falls, the smell of brandy and chocolate, always mingling with the scent of my strawberry shampoo. You always did like to sleep inches from my face. In fact, you refused to sleep unless I was lying next you. Unless the curves of our bodies were pressed together like a human jigsaw puzzle, you would stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that wouldn't come.
How do you sleep now? Because I can't lie here without you.
Although I can still feel your body pressed to mine, it's not really there. It's just a memory – my senses reaching out for some sign of happiness. That's what you were to me.
My body aches for yours – it has been so long, but I still remember. Sometimes I wish I could forget. At least the nights wouldn't seem so cold. At least I wouldn't lay here wondering what is keeping you from me – why you chose to stay away.
Why aren't you here?
I loved you. I still love you – more than I can ever say. Maybe I should have tried. Maybe then you would still be here, maybe I wouldn't be here.
The hours have turned to days and the days to weeks, and still no letters, no calls, no sign of you. Didn't you love me? You said you did. I gave you my heart. I gave you all of me, and this is how you treat me?
I wish I could join you in that wooden box. My name should be written on the stone six feet above your head, with yours. Then we could lie next to each other, we could fit together, we could love each other, just like it used to be. My life began in a bed, with our midnight rendezvous, and that is how it will end.
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