TRACES OF YOU

Nightmares. But not the fun kind. No crazy plot lines with sleek white face-less creatures or post apocalyptic demons. The real ones. The kind where mom disappears or where You decide I'm just not worth the trouble anymore. I wake, sweaty, but too weak to even sit up. So I turn around, and there you are, smelling like soft, fresh sheets and sweet sleep. A floppy, drowsy grin spreads across my face as I bury my face in your chest, inhale you and drift off to cotton cloud land. Midnight blue velvet skies with glossy swirly silver slivers. Dreaming has never been this sweet. But then I wake up. For a second time? I'm immediately slapped across the face by the fact that once again, I got lured into a dream within a dream. Because true consciousness always comes with the agonising jab of knowing that you're not next to me. You're five thousand miles away, and you're not even in bed, your day has started. You're probably making toast, thinking about everything you need to get done today. I picture you scramble eggs and it makes me smile. You always look adorable with a spatula in hand. I hope you think of me when you bite into your toast. I hope the butter in your toast reminds you of the the salty gheey goodness that oozed through the dosas I made you. I hope your scrambled eggs remind you of my half broken double bull's eyes. I hope they make you wish I were there.

I'll be there. Soon. And we'll fall asleep together, wake together, cook together and eat together. You'll be more than a voice over the phone, more than a pixelated avatar of yourself, more than a goodmorning text. You'll be mine. To hold. To feel. To keep.

'I miss you' doesn't cut it anymore. We've said those words to each other so many times now that it has turned into a greeting. Hi, hello, I miss you!

But it's true. I do. I miss you so much that I ache for your presence. My finger tips crave feeling the softness of your hair and the warmth of your skin. My lungs miss your scent and the taste of your breath. My soul misses being soothed by the sound of your heart beat. I miss you.

ImissyouImissyouImissyou.

I think about all the mornings when I had the pleasure of waking up next to you. When I felt your touch through my dreams, your hands slowly drawing me out into reality. Mornings when the first thing I saw was your face, and the first thought I had was one of gratitude to the universe, for deeming me worthy of you. Mornings that were too good to be true.

The house misses you too. The couch next to the window mourns your absence. It appears to have wilted into a faded green from it's original aquamarine, out of sheer loneliness. Your spot against the kitchen counter is too painful to even look it. A single glance and I'm staring directly into your big, brown eyes filled with adoration and respect for me, just for managing to turn the stove on without burning the house down.

Every nook and cranny of this house is filled with memories of you. Nooks and crannies that I frequent, just to stand where you stood, touch what you touched and see what you saw. Desperate methods to cling on to whatever shreds you've left behind.