It comes back in flashbacks, but you never do.
3am. I wake up, and don’t reach out for you.
My mind has now, finally, accepted you’re not here. My mind has accepted I won’t wake up to a series of texts, all impatiently telling me to wake up because you got up at six for work and I slept until noon.
My body, however, has not. And I don’t blame myself, because how does one forget what it was like to be held all night? How did you forget?
It was the first time I had ever shared a bed with a boy. It was the first time I had slept in someone’s arms. And it wasn’t comfortable, it was rather unfamiliar. It was all sorts of uncomfortable, and awkward – thanks to the heat, bodily noises, and my stupid bladder. I lay awake, and wondered how you were sound asleep, and why it isn’t morning already. But you held me tight and once I slept, I found the comfort I had been missing, in your arms and our tangled-up bodies. Of course, I won’t forget.
The morning after you left, I subconsciously reached out, and hit the wall. I checked my phone, and was welcomed by a blank screen.
The week after you left, I took up the entire bed and slept pretty well. I woke up even later than noon, and didn’t check my phone.
I’m doing just fine. Really.
But it’s 3am. And it’s coming back in flashbacks. Are you coming back?