The inky blackness of the room hugged the outline of my aching body, but hardly tight enough, and my heart was heavy with the weight of missing the safety of your embrace that should have been there, but wasn't.

And I tossed and turned, restless, haunted by the air that traced me in space, buzzing with the energy of your heartbeat that should have been there, but wasn't.

And the hushed night wrapped its hands around my neck and squeezed, leaving little spots of lavender, bruises, shaped like your fingertips that should have been there, but weren't.

And the last words you spoke to me rang in my ears, and I cringed, and I begged, longingly and desperately for the steady rhythm of your sleeping breath that should have been there, but wasn't.