It's a special sort of twisted, really - my subconscious forcing me to endure this hell even in my sleep. I can't seem to seek refuge anywhere now; you occupy every corner of my mind, as if you didn't every day before. And can I ask, how do your hands make it through the day? How do your fingers pass the time, do your palms ever cry wondering where mine have been? It's been so long since I've touched your soul, and I'm just now beginning to realize that that is very different than simply touching your skin. But there was nothing simple about it. There was nothing mundane, ordinary, or casual about our love - and unfortunately for you these are the truths that quite frankly just cannot be denied. You can try all you want, use all your might to pretend that this love never happened between the two of us. You may be able to fool them; hell, you may even be able to fool yourself every now and again, but when you're alone in the deepest parts of yourself, I like to believe that you'll feel me there the most - feel my hair tickle your arm or my fingers drag over your spine or my lips brush against your neck - these are the places you will feel me most, and I will feel you everywhere, forever.