They carry your scent
like they were made to never
forget you. I miss the way

they slipped against my legs,
as I intertwined them with yours. Under

my white, stained duvet was our private sanctuary, where we hid
all night. There was a time

your chest was my pillow; my dreams
were vibrant then.  I haven’t

dreamed like I did since you

left. The day I moved from the couch back
into my bed I filled the left side
with books and clothes, because I feared rolling over in the middle
of the night and you not
being there.



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