I thought of you again last night. Dooming myself to repeat the mistake of revising the memory of a muted light, our quickened breaths, our hearts on fire. I visioned a fantasy of you last night, where my house is empty and silent, and the heat tells the truth of what I really want to do, taste the lips that once belonged to me so violent. I hated you again last night for how you make me so vulnerable to miss a body to hold next to me in bed the countless times you gave me bliss. The times when the aching of my heart only meant I had too much love to share, and not the selfish need of wanting to feed, to lust and touch and cast away cares. I thought of how late in the night our new year's day dance is not all I want back, I want the comfort of your smile as you so confidently say you love me like you did on a now distant day. But I thought of you again last night in the only way I know how to, shedding the meaning of my lonely pain for a momentary passionate touch of you. I thought of you again last night and promised myself this time was the last, for I cannot spend the night longing for a kiss I know I will never get back.