Brake, turn turn turn STOP.
Shift the gear from Drive to Neutral to Reverse to Park.
Switch off the lights, 3, 2, 1. Turn the key and pull it out.
Let go of the brakes. Move the seat back a couple notches. Lean it back a bit. Exhale.

It's 5:36 and I haven't slept all night and I should've but I regret nothing. My hoodie smells like you, I bring it closer to my face. Your scent envelops me, embraces me, kisses me lightly. I wish it was your hair that was wrapped gently around my hand, not my hoodie string. I wish it was your body I was holding close to me, not the cold air.

Sigh. Shift legs around. Stretch arms out. Rub eyes. Look out the window.

I wish I could hold you and kiss you as the sun comes up. We've ended days together often, but we have yet to witness a sunrise. I wish you were here to tell me what colors were where in the sky. I wish I could point out the fading constellations and tell you the stories behind them, while adding on to our own.

Sigh again. Straighten seat, move it up a couple notches. Open the door, check pocket for keys, lock the door.  Lean against it now. Sigh.

I'm thinking of my bed. it's cold, lonely, and it has an appalling lack of you in it. Your body isn't there to warm my bones. You're not there to hold and caress. We rested, naked in thought and partially in clothes.

Sigh once more. Close the door. Keys and hands in pockets. Walk up to the door, unlock it. Wipe feet on the mat. Shut it ever so softly (you can't be waking up Mum). Take off shoes. Sit on the stairs.

It's cold outside and in my bed and again, my bones are frigid. It's Sunday morning and I've a long day ahead of me. I've been up almost 24 hours but I can't seem to sleep: I'm going through withdrawal now, the ecstasy that is your touch now an hour old. I miss you.

Sigh for the last time. Get up, stretch out a bit, get off the stairs.*

I shuffle off towards the kitchen and make myself some coffee. Strong, bold, and sharp. I wish it was your lips that I tasted at 6:43, accentuating my senses and jolting me awake.

Mug in the sink and sugar in the cupboard, milk and cream in the fridge. Up the stairs, right to the bathroom. Strip. Shower on.

The water runs down me and I wish once again that it was your body pressed up against me. Your ******* against my chest, the curve of your hips against my waist. Hands roaming, hearts beating, lips meeting.

Shower off. Drip drop blip blop. Dry off and dress.

**It's 7:30 and my day has started, but my longing for you has yet to end.

"Whenever you're stressed,
you internalize it to your gut"
my doctor told me.

My mother always said:
"You feel everything in your stomach."

And it all makes sense now,
How I got knots and twists,
when you said goodbye.
And how I got nauseous,
when I saw you holding her hand.

But if that's true,
why does my chest hurt so much?

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

The promise you made
to love me
means more than
the promise I made
to love myself