Day by day, I said yesterday. It gets better, then it gets worse. I’m fidgety, stemming from my early morning episode. I dreamt of her standing in my shower. All the pretense drained from reality. No breakup. No separation. No goddamn silence. Just her tiny frame and the month of April collecting between the shower curtain and the drain. The perfect mess of black hair mats to her head and collarbones like leaf armor. I glance at the dimple just above her ass, the place I’ve claimed as mine. She turns to me and purses her lips when I prompt her to kiss me. A peck of heat. No soul-shattering, toe-curler of a kiss. Yet it scalds me. Hotter than the water buffering our pistoning hearts. Hot enough to wake me from death and stoke the wildfire culling me.
This is my brain subconsciously reminding me of what I fucking miss. Who I miss. To the point of wakefulness.