i had a blissful three weeks with you. the days passed by seamlessly - balmy days faded to dark blue nights easily, and the scattered stars in the cool summer skies twinkled almost as bright as your eyes when they looked my way. i slept peacefully throughout the nights in your apartment, with your warm body slowly breathing in next to me - galaxies unfurling beneath your eyelids with every breath you took. and although we would start from being wrapped around each other, to you gently pushing me away in the middle of the night because the heat both our bodies emitted when pressed together was just too much, i could still be reassured that the morning would stumble across your arms around me once again. even better yet, your lips would find mine in the depths of night and we’d sleepily kiss in the dark, arms wrapping around each other’s shoulders and my hands reaching for your face as if it were a lifeline, fingers gently tracing up and down your cheek lest you break, like fine china. 

but here, i sleep alone in the dark. there are no stars to light the way across the constellations of your cheekbones or the landscape of your chest that i love so much, and no quiet snores to play like soft, soothing lullabies throughout the night. there is only silence and a vast expanse of empty space between the ends of my bed where your warm body could be lying, softly pressed against the curves of mine. i sleep on the inside end of the bed, near the wall, instead of my accustomed middle, because i am used to it now; and i find myself edging more towards the edge of the bed to allow space for your body that isn’t there. i catch myself reaching for the pillow next to mine during the late hours of night, hoping to sleepily stroke the hair framing your face as you sleep, breathing me in. there is no heartbeat resounding from inside your chest where i lay my head - only pillows that could never imitate the love, trust, and warmth you unknowingly emanate toward me while you sleep, a lovely feeling that blankets me head to toe from the unforgiving world; there is no skin that gives way to my searching fingertips in the dark of night, like crossword puzzles waiting to be solved. 

you, yourself, are a crossword puzzle i can’t solve - but i wouldn’t mind poring over the words that put you together, if only i could rest my forehead against your back for all the nights of the rest of my life. i don’t mind finding definitions to the answers of the questions of your being, if it means i can leave indents of my fingertips on your sides as we sleep.  

shooting stars will litter the sky, disappearing in a trail of light as they travel to their destinations, but they will burn in vain, as dreams have already been realized, with you sleeping quietly in my arms, and i wrapped up in yours.