Sometimes you aren't sure what you want. You wished for this. You asked for this. You've taken her place, and it is exactly what you chose. You're waiting for her, and you'll stay in the shop until you meet her again. You do what she did, sliding into her space exactly, in order to keep her memory. You cook, clean, mend, help customers, play with the girls…

but you're itching

itching for movement. For something.

Sleep is an escape. Literally. Except…

You can't touch people in dreams. Sometimes, you forget that it is possible to touch another person at all. You imagine yourself

floating

in

space,

suspended

in

time

and

matter.

Nothing can reach you. Nothing can break or caress you. Nothingness surrounds you.

But occasionally (often), he is there.

You forget he's real. So impassive, so unresponsive, so unnaturally still.

It bothers you more now than it did then.

You take her game, and run with it. You wear revealing silks, and women's clothing. Smoke, and lounge and flutter your eyes like she did. She's always in your thoughts, but often you want to know what he'll do.

He does nothing.

And anger rises, simmering under the surface. You grow bolder, but still he's passive, and it only makes you feel more isolated.

He is there and warm and real, and you aren't. And you long for what he has. Long for him.

You ask yourself.

Do you want him,

or someone?

Do you want her,

or no one?

Do you even know what longing is?

You don't know what you want.