It’s like the world stops when you’re gone.
Like I can’t get out of bed, and I stare at the walls and ceiling, waiting for answers that will never come.
I can’t see colors when you’re gone.
They’re duller, blander.
 I wear my favorite shirt to bed, the one you gave me the first time we had sex, and though I know its green I stare at it, only seeing gray.
I search my room for evidence of you. For something, anything, to prove that you were here, that you exist, that you love me.
I search my room for signs of you, first, curiously, just for something to prove that you’re not some sort of fragment of my imagination, some sort of sadomasochistic fantasy I’ve created for myself.
But then, I search frantically. And before I know it I’m tearing things apart, digging through my closet, pulling out entire drawers and emptying the contents on the floor, searching for something, a picture, even a pen you once held.
Just something to prove that you are real, that you were mine, even for a little while, but al I am left with are whispers and memories, and I’m all alone.
It’s always easier the first few days after you leave.
I can still feel you on my skin. Still smell you on my pillows, still taste you on my lips.
I replay every second in my head.
I think of your smile. The sound of your voice.
I touch myself the way you touched me, and then, I refuse to touch myself at all, not wanting to erase the feeling of you.
You’re all I want, all I want to feel, and I crave to feel you again.
And then misery sets in.
It doesn’t take much. It never does. A comment perhaps. A song. Even the smell of fresh laundry and soap can sometimes set me off.
You’re not here.
Why? Why?
You don’t love me.
Why? Why?
And I can’t cope.
I miss you so much when you’re gone.
And then, like a wish come true, you’re here.
And I can’t help myself.
I’m so happy I could cry. Sometimes I do.
I touch your skin. Oh, how I love your skin.
Like warm silk.
And I want to wrap myself in it and forget everything.
Oh, when you’re here, when you’re here, colors are brighter.
I’m happy, I’m myself again.
It’s like the world makes sense again.
And time moves, too quickly now, and I memorize every touch, every sigh, every smile,
During that time it’s like the world is ours.
I feel invincible.
I’m in love.
And I’m yours, and you’re mine, completely mine for a time.
We tell each other stories.
That one time you drove me home, when we were strangers and I was lost.
The first time you kissed me.
The first time I made you laugh.
The first time you made me lose control.
We rehearse the first time we met.
I remember that day like a collection of photographs, always finding something new in the margins. You, on the other hand, remember every detail.
I’m fascinated by you and I tell you so.
You kiss me in turn, and I melt.
You exhaust me, consume me, but it’s never enough, never, and though you’re lying right next to me I’m filed with loneliness for you again.
And too soon, Always too soon, you’re gone again.

And I’m alone.