I woke up in a city’s sun-scape. Light erupting through white curtains, as well as us. The air smelled sweet and salty, like a dining room dressed in wreckless breakfast. Wreckless yes, but I didn’t mind. And I made sure he knew that. I propped myself up on the heels of my hands and watched as they steadily sunk into the white feather pillows and throws. An indent of where I’d just been. And as I breathed in, I let my breath shudder soundlessly through my chest as it made it’s way up and out. Soft like a faucet. A morning shower, maybe. In sleep, I had let my nightgown drape it’s way around my legs sliding the satin edges like tides continually revisiting it’s sandy shores. For the first time in my morning, I wondered where he went.

I slumped backwards with a heavy exhale and buried my head under the blankets. For the first time in my morning, I found myself missing him. I missed his smell, and how sweetly it swept over his spot after he’d slept there. I missed the way he awoke earlier than I ever could, lying on his side, arm outstretched, fingers twirling the hairs that swept down the side of my face, and tucking them gently behind my ear again. I missed the way he sang the same verse from “naked as we came”, everytime I opened my eyes for the first time each morning,

” He says wake up it’s no use pretendin’
I’ll keep stealin’ breathing her,
Birds are leavin’ over Autumn’s ending,
One of us will die inside these arms..”

I missed the unmistakable smile in his voice as he sang it. I missed the way he traced all of his favorite words in curly letters on the fronts of my forearms, making me guess. I nearly never could, but he’d laugh everytime I couldn’t. His laugh. I missed that too. I missed his laugh more than most normal people missed things. I missed the way it seeped it’s way into my blood stream making me shake, and burst into small-intermittent hiccups that somersaulted in and out of my mouth, until we were both laughing ourselves into a sick-like oblivion. Melting into our bed, granting it permission to smell just like us again.

For I missed him more than I know how to hurt. And as tonight’s city moon-scape slept soundly in my window, the air surounding smelled parched and dry-as if no one had ever lived here. No one had ever loved here; laughed here. And I might have believed this intake of breath, if I hadn’t left our bed just as it was when you left here.
The last time you slept here.

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