My head feels as though flooded with a plethora of waves, so strong that when I turn and look at you, comforted and hidden from this guilt underneath covers that do little to ease my worries with their clingy cold, I can hear the ocean calling back at me, asking what plagues my mind when I wake, as if it couldn't ever be only you, and, darling, this thing that breaks my heart is the inevitable silence that will always follow these lonely nights spent in your unwilling, shaking arms that beg me to go even while your sweet breath whispers into the open pores of my heavy skin, 'please stay.' I know that shock to your system when you rouse from dreams of another woman, who couldn't give you an easier life if you asked, and I know I won't go my whole life telling you I don't need to hear it, because someday, when I'm just a floorplan and not your 'well worth waiting for' anymore, that I'll be what you did right, and you will leave yet another mark to bruise my framework as you tell me you never really loved her, anyway. What does that mean, eh? Am I so clever in what I do, stealing the attention of those I've carefully planned our sick, twisted game around that you can't even look at me now as I cry with you? You promised me forever, but you gave me tonight instead, and even I am not so foolish as to think you would plead guilty as charged in the face of our crimes; you're not the cure. All you need to hear is that you're not mine, then you'll be the criminal who stole me away for once. In the morning you hope that the glare on our window will bring me around, but we both know we've travelled nowhere.