Little Talks

21 March 2013

Sweetie,

I know there's no possible way that you'll be getting this since the last of your things were taken out while I was at the studio earlier today. And there's no way for me to contact you because you left without a word, and the last thing you told me was that you planned on keeping it that way.

But love, it's half past four in the morning and I've woken up from a pointless sleep, and I reached across the bed just moments ago in hopes of wrapping my bare arms around your warm body and pulling you close.

I thought that you might be here still, sleeping soundly, oblivious to my derranged thoughts of you leaving, and that you'd be here to sleep neatly in the crook of my arm and hum me back to dream land, but you aren't.

And it hurts not to know the patterns of your breathing anymore for my thoughts are muddled with guilt and sickness, and it hurts not being able to hear the cute sounds you make in your sleep when you're all cuddled up into my side.

I miss - I need to know the feeling of your skin on mine again; I need to rewind to all those moments in the past and catch them - collect them in my palm and lock them away in a wooden box with its own key, because I never thought that you'd leave and that I'd forget.

Baby, it's ten minutes till five in the morning, and I'm trying to go back to sleep, but you're not here.

Oh, how I wish you were here.