I needed you to fix this. Isn't this what people live for; the synchrony of breaths, my head on your bare chest, while you sleep and rest your hand in the curve of my back? Even in your sleep your hands memorize the shape of my body, the feel of my soft skin that you keep pressed tightly against you. You are not what I need.

In the silence of these moments, in the peace that surrounds two bodies wound together, my thoughts turn violent. I imagine the day you hear that I'm gone, your mind will come back here. The last time you felt my breath.

"how did she do it?"

you'll try to make sense of it, but you don't know me. No one does.

These moments make me so deeply lonely. You were supposed to fix that. Instead I wake you from your dream,

"you need to go"