What is a night but a place to get lost? Lost somewhere in the dark. The darkest dark. You know the kind. (You do.) The kind where everything you’ve loved is no more, the last ember has burned out, the final flame is gone—a power surge that knocked an entire city out, the bottom of a well, sitting on a freshly dug grave and screaming until your lungs give out. That kind of dark.

Will they find me? Will he find me? Will he look for me? Has he looked for me? Has he even thought of me? Was he even real? Was he? Was I? Were we?

If he was, he is a ghost now. And he harbors all of the light. He holds it selfishly—a thief—who showed me his face, the one I could trace with my eyes closed. But I dare not touch. I dare not touch. I dare not touch.

We touched. I melted into him like a fallen candle, pieces of me everywhere.

His eyes—green, kind, nervously intense. The way his lips tightly spread across his face, with two exaggerated peaks. The softness of his pale skin. His pretentiously ******* parted hair. The hair he fiddled with, over and over, creating a part he was supposed to not part.

Can I fall asleep now and pretend his hands have interlaced with mine, one last time?

A solace sleep.

Dream sweet, my dear.

Dream sweet.