Pillow Talk

I miss the way you messed up your side of the bed.

I have this queen all to myself now. My forlorn shadow drowns in the space left by the empty indent on your side. I fervently will the sides of the mattress to shrink, seeking something to cradle my ravaged heart, grasping my blankets tighter to my body. No one steals my covers anymore, or pulls at the sheets I fastidiously tucked into hospital corners. I never understood how you could throw my perfectly made bed into a twisted mess of cotton and limbs.

Slow mornings in the company of one, steaming coffee clasped between trembling fingers. I find myself in the twilight zone; torn between fighting and relinquishing myself to memories of cerulean eyes meeting mine under covers on crisp mornings, forehead kisses before early departures, and lasting embraces hidden from the day creeping upon us.

If only we could have stayed in those tangible moments of love, forever. Two people who adored each other, sleeping and dreaming side by side- arms reaching in the night, a hand on a thigh, a leg tossed over a waist. Eventually we had to wake up, we couldn’t dream forever.

What I would give now, to complain about how you messed up my sheets, just one more time.