Nights like this aren’t easy. Nights like this are actually really hard…

One day, you’ll wake up before her and offset this delicate balance. she’s spinning, tonight, alone in her bed. It might be the room. It might be her mind. And to be frank, it might be the wine. Racing around in circles, asking herself questions that only you can answer; questions she’s not totally sure she wants the answers to. She lived in ignorant bliss for the last go around, she’d like to think she’s past that now. Reservations and cautiousness act as emotional checks and balances when it’s too hard to face the places your heart returns too. Maybe now you’ve crossed oceans and traversed the globe, the lesser things wont be as daunting. Perhaps your feet might thaw now that you’ve seen the rest of it isn’t so hard.

They always say these types of things are rarities and should be coveted in the unlikely chance they’re come across. She stares at the ceiling watching shapes form and move across for as long as she can refrain from blinking. Nostalgia creeps at the odd hours of the night, through the sheets and into her ears, tugging at the insides of her chest. Scent barely lingers on the pillow case and I only want to eat pizza because it reminds me of you.

It’s easier when you’re gone but it’s harder when you’re away.

I’m so good at poking holes in all my own theories, I’d hate for you to do it for me.

I saw you next to the pillar past the double sliding doors, looking lost among a sea of slowing moving cars. You were on the phone with me. I caught your eye and we drove off into the familiar grey, nerves crackling like the bag of gummy bears you were opening in my passenger seat.

I’m so good at filling my head up with doubt, but it’s hard for me to do when you’re lying here next to me. We slowly inch our bodies closer together until we’re supporting each others weight with our own. Politely testing the boundaries of comfort, reservations and familiarity.

Sometimes you don’t realise how much you miss something until you have it again. I’ve done a very good job at putting you in a tiny, locked box in the recesses of my chest cavity until lately. Perfecting the art of forgetting. Seems we both have, however untenable it’s been.

I don’t sleep as well as I do when I’m next to you.