Sometimes when I miss you, I pick up the blue bottle of cologne you gave me (just because I said I liked it), spray it on my neck, and go to sleep with the memory of you enveloping me with your lips on my neck and your form pressed against mine from behind - my big spoon

And imagine you whispering "intimacy" into my ear as you fell asleep in that pose - like you always did - while I, like a cat would keep awake and just stare at that spot on the ceiling, willing myself not to fall asleep lest I should awake and find you gone.

I've been doing this since the last time your arms were around mine in a hug that neither of us wanted to break free from

Before I got on that train home for the last time

And you got on that plane home for the last time

Never to come back to me again

Despite all the shooting stars I wished on

Dead stars

Just like our future

I scrolled down my call history the other day till I came upon a familiar number

A dead number

Whom during this time, last year could almost pass as my lockscreen - because of the number of times I'd get a call from that number in a day

The number that went from being saved just as "Zfrom Tinder"

to "Z"

to "Z*k *with a vibrating heart emoji beside it" (because whenever my phone vibrated with that number on it, so would my heart)

And finally just to a random series of numbers with no name because congrats, you just got deleted out of my contacts and out of my life

Out of sight, out of mind...

The day you called me again, I thought I saw 666 on the screen because the Devil might as well given me a call from hell as the operator with you on the other end waiting to talk to me again

And drag me back down there with you

Not this time, you aren't

For as far as I know, dead men tell no tales

And I can't hear dead people