it's funny how
after days
and weeks
and months
of you looking at me
you never really saw me

and even funnier yet how
after days
and weeks
and months
of you being gone
you're still the only thing i can see

it's been 13 minutes since you ended everything and i think i can feel my bones splintering and cracking under the weight of everything i never said

sometimes i think it's a bit of a mystery
why i prefer to sleep on the floor than to sleep on my bed
and then i think of all i went through while i sat on that bed
alone
on the nights when i had no one
and days when my sheets still smelled like you
and i realize
that it's really no mystery at all

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.