I wake.
Reach across the sheets.
Empty.
You are not there.

I went home.
But this is not my home.
These walls are too bright, too still.
The air tastes of absence.

I close my eyes.
I see you –
long hair spilling across the pillows,
dark eyes catching mine.
Your hands are so warm.
I reach.
Always reach.

I wake again.
Empty.
I fall back into my dreams,
fingers brushing shadows –
trying to pull you back into my room.
But you are always just beyond my reach.
And I am always too late.

I am awake.
I am dreaming.
I am waiting for a touch,
a touch that I know will come.
I do not know when, but I reach anyway.
Always, I reach.