Every night, around midnight, I find myself awake in my bed, my mind lost in the memories of the past. Memories of him. The boy I dreamed of every night while I was in his arms. I think of Ronnie's and my house, a part of me wishing that it was his and my house, and I know of the tears the fall from my eyes. Tears spelt over how destiny had played with both of our lives and separated us.

I know I love Ronnie, his support during my time of need was the only thing kept me going in life.

Sometimes though…

Sometimes though, when I wake up with Ronnie's arm spread over my bare waist in a lover's embrace, I will think of his smile, his lips, his eyes. And for that moment in time, Ronnie would become him. My secret lover, my secret passion, my phantom of the past.

I will feel safer then, happier. I would even lean closer to his warm body then, my head running over the smooth surface of his chest. Not Ronnie's chest, but his. Sometimes I would picture myself looking up and seeing him stare down at me.

But always… I realize it isn't him, it's my second love.

And I cry.

I cry in silent agony, a part of my soul screaming out at the cowardliness of my ways that kept me from him, kept me from waking up his arms. My tears trickle down my cheek and splash against my true embracer's chest. Sometimes Ronnie would wake up, sometimes he wouldn't.

Tonight, Ronnie was sleeping soundly.

I do love Ronnie! I do love him for what he has done for me. I love the way he acts, how responsible he is, how caring he is. I love it when he surprises me with little gifts for no reason. I love how he sometimes surprises me in the shower. I love Ronnie… but I was in love with him.  

During the time when all seemed lost, he would comfort me, his love for me lost to the others. He and me would be the only ones in the moment, the words, he spoke to me, being the breath of life that I needed. They would give me hope. They would be the light I needed to escape the shadows of doubt in my soul.

                I loved him. I loved him with all my heart.

                And because he had to play a hero, he is missing.

                He had to run off after Rachel's funeral, run from me. I know he blamed himself. I know seeing me would only remind him of what sacrifice had to be made to save mankind. Then he had to hide behind the media, hide behind his work.

                He hid from me. He hid from what we both wanted.

                And now, he's gone from me again, vanishing into the depths of space.

                I'm crying harder now, the thought of his disappearance digging deeper into my being. For a second, I find myself disgusted with myself for being so close to Ronnie and not him. I don't want Ronnie. I love him! I want him!

                Between my drops of despair, I repeat his name softly, his name causing my sadness to dwell deeper.

                "Marco…"