Yet another cold, dark, lonely night. I’m lying here in the middle of the bed, wishing things were different. You’re not here, you never really were. I am alone. The mere thought of this sends painful shivers down my spine and I refuse to accept it as my reality. I don’t know if you know what that’s like, painting your whole world on a blank canvas that has been conjured by your mind. What am I talking about? Of course, you do know. If you didn't, ‘we’ would never have existed.

So here I am. I’m alone, but you’re here too. The night makes me more sensitive to the illusion of your touch, your kiss, your embrace. You’re not here, but you’re holding me, running your fingers through my hair and nuzzling my ear. You’re not here, but you’re telling me you love me, that I’m beautiful, that you’ll want me forever.

You’re not here, in this dark, cold, lonely room. And yet, you’re the only thing my senses can detect.