Curled like a half moon at the edge of the bed, white sheets
like clouds, she reaches out to cup the cheeks of her mug
resting by her bedside. Her palms reminiscing how your face felt pressed
against it the other night. She brings it forward to sip, as if to kiss. The taste
of the fruits of summer flow into the thin opening of her pursed lips. In quiet darkness, she recalls the sound of your voice. In an instant she is transported to the bank of still waters in an unspoiled paradise somewhere during the fall. The leaves crackle underneath her as she rests her palms on the ground, propping herself up to soak in the moonlight. A light night wind blowing your name into her ears.
She wipes a glance across her bed, watching it grow exponentially into a field of sunflowers and stargazer lilies. Imagining you sleeping on yellow petals as if you were in a sea of sunshine. She imagines she would lay beside you and spoon you from behind if only to nuzzle your neck until you wake. Alas, she merely sits on the bed beside a pillow with an echo or your scent.
Any and every thought inevitably leads her to back to you. Such a bittersweet sort of pining. Such a tender ache. Wanting nothing but to run her hands all over you to slowly rub away the stresses of the days that have passed. Thumbs rubbing the temples of your wrist to soothe your hands and ready them for another day of wafting clouds and plucking stars.
Until the time she sees you again, she sits content to touch you with her mind. Writing love letters in the dead of the night so you may wake knowing you are her final thought at the close of everyday.
Goodnight darling.
