I sat by your side for three hours that night while you slept.
Your face was at peace, you reminded me of a child whose innocence was still in place and not yet bustled about or knocked over by the harshness of the world.
Your breathing was even, more so than it ever was because you were always doing some sport (running, mostly), so maybe one day you'd be strong enough to fight back the life that always caught up to you.
You were still.
You weren't turning away from me, you weren't sliding your hands up and over my thighs, you weren't shifting around to find a better position with me leaning against you because for whatever reason the space I occupied not only next to you but in your life made you uncomfortable.
I sat tucked against your side and listened to you breathe for three hours.
I heard the breaths you took and the way you sighed when your body thought nobody could hear and I've never been in love with a sound but I would be satisfied if I never could hear anything else but that.

It's been four months since you left and that memory is still what says goodnight to me.