2:03 AM Sunday

Grief interrupts my sleep with her whispers of wake. I pull the sheets back as she trails her body next to me, laying her heavy chest atop mine. Her face nestles in a mangled mess of my air dried hair and the summer humidity glazing cheekbones. "I do not want to sleep", she tells me defiantly. Her voice feels like a familiar echo of my own. Her vulnerability covered by stubborn arrogance. I tell her, "I am here" as I lay with her, feeling my eyes swell red with tiredness, but here. The ceiling fan broke in early June and the summers in the city are unbearable. She doesn't move from where she once settled, the heat of my body giving her comfort. I, in my skin, a blanket wrapped between my naked thighs, listen to the sound of her breathing slow into sleep. As the weight of Grief relaxes in her rest, the heaviness of the things she carried burden my lungs and leaves me wanting to follow her into sleep.

4:21 AM Friday

When I close my eyes and indulge the night, I find loneliness lives in the dark. The kind of loneliness in which plays a continuos reel of intimate moments of fingers intertwining hair and kissing between sleep. Projecting moments where warmth is a feeling conjured between the friction of spirits,

I can see him with his body hovering above mine, the outstretch of his arms balanced between the width of upper body. His brow in an meek furrow of wonderment as the brown of his eyes follow the waving curves of my lips as they grow and settle in a wandering grin of happiness and realization of current happiness. Everything we say is without words and I understand you. Our quiet is alive with conversation.

I demand that you to be on the other side of the bed when I open my eyes. As I stake my demand, letting in the little amount of light, I convince myself you will be. But you're not. Nothing is on the left side of the bed but the haunt of where the length of my arm could reach out and lie flat against your milky skin, moving across the bends of your body to where your waist anchors the pull me close. 

Nothing and loneliness are all that I have in the night.