It is the best feeling, just lying there with the one you love. She thinks. Yet she feels greedy, because she wants to add: just lying there with the one you love and being able to tell her, to hold her, to have her know that you are here. Her phantom fingers find Maura's.

She sees that they are touching. That, she thinks comfortingly, is better than nothing.

Maura is watching the stars on the ceiling, she is watching the stars on the ceiling, and the stars are just watching them both from the ceiling.

They have offered no wish come true, no chance for me to go yes Maura, I'm awake and how I've missed you. She says to herself. If I'm still lying here next to you Maura, touching but not feeling, then they have offered us nothing. She is angry for a moment. She is more sunken than pissed though by the next.

There is a lot of silence this morning. Even the birds are not chirping.

Still she will hope.

Maura had once said to her that the researchers at the University of Pittsburgh have proven that optimistic people live longer. She wants to live longer.
She will be hopeful, be optimistic, and she will awake to hold Maura; she will awake to hold Maura, close to her.

If the birds don't start chirping, I'll just start singing. She thinks. She knows songs of love, she knows songs of hope. She will just keep singing. One day her voice will carry the notes of hope and love to Maura; hope and love will reach her, hope and love will reach Maura.

She wants soothing tunes to surround Maura, to provide Maura with the comfort that she cannot provide Maura.

The darn birds better start chirping. She angrily thinks.

She knows that Maura is not on call this morning. She knows that her mother will be coming. Bless that woman for her mothering. She reminds herself to thank her mother; another note onto the ever-growing list of typical things one forgets to be thankful for, until one has lost them or are hovering between living and death.

She reminds herself to thank her mother, for loving Maura, for taking care of Maura. She wants to thank her mother, for keeping Maura from being alone. Even though she knows how loneliness seeps in when it is moonlight streaming in.

She blinks back tears. She does not want to be blurry-eyed today.
She wants it all to be clear; it is a whole day with Maura, and she does not want to miss a thing.

She watches Maura, looking at the ceiling. She wonders what Maura is thinking.

If she rolls back onto their allocated sides, with Maura on the left and her on the right, it will just be back to that night - with a mattress, two glasses of wine, and that moment when she had told Maura, how she is her fantasy, how she is her reality.

She wonders if Maura is thinking it too. You're still my reality Maura, she tells Maura in a voice, only she herself can hear. We are going to another game at Fenway when I wake, she tells Maura, and we are going on many, many more dates.

She looks to Maura. Searching, waiting, for any sign of movement, of indication, of yes Jane, of course, we'll go on many more dates.
Apart from eye blinks, Maura offers nothing.

Maura is still looking at the stars, at the ceiling. She is getting very envious of inanimate things.


A/N: Hi there, thank you, for the time~