There is still this part of me that thinks about you.

And you.

And you.

And you.

And you.

Stealthily sliding your way into dreams...and sometimes, nightmares.

When I wake up, I find that my hands have not been idle. One, laying across the pillow, as if it had been tracing your outline.

And one, stretched across the empty half of my bed.

Then, I roll over, go back to sleep, this machinelike routine doesn't keep me from moving during the day.

But the darkness swallows that confidence again. I remember telling someone that it's the nights that scare me the most.