The Strokes "Alone, Together"

The sun is an unwelcome intruder into my pleasant cocoon. I balk from opening my eyes, sensing the light in the room but not wanting to wake up just yet. My body is pleasantly aching from last nights activities... I sigh happily... remembering.

Then I open my eyes.

You're gone.

My arms are empty. The bed holds only me.

My mind immediately supplies some reasons - you're in the bathroom, you're making breakfast, you've gone for muffins - but I know with a certainty that I can't explain, that it's nothing like that. You left. You woke up, freaked out, grabbed your clothes and snuck out of the house, quiet as death.

My face a mask of grimness, I don't need to look around the room to see that your clothes are gone. I don't need to walk out to the hallway to see that you've taken your suitcases. But I do anyway. The empty space where your cases should be is no comfort. I was right. You're gone.

I didn't want to be right this time.

Swearing, I flop down on the couch.

Shit-fuck-shit-fuck-goddamn-mother-fucking-fuck!!!

I can't believe I did this. You weren't ready. I went too far. I pushed you too hard. I scared you and you ran. You must feel so confused, so betrayed. Fuck fuck FUCK I am so STUPID! Why didn't I wait? Why didn't I slow down. Goddamn it!

I can feel tears welling as I pound my fists into the couch, a stream of obscenities pouring from my mouth. I can't believe it. My one shot at happiness and dare I even say love - and I've fucked it up.

I've lost you for sure this time.

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks and no word from you. No letter. No phone call. Not even a fucking sixteen character text message. Where are you, Dan? What happened? Do you even remember?

I remember. Only too well. I seem doomed to permanent total recall of every harrowingly precious detail. I don't know if it's a blessing or a curse. I can't have you but I can't forget you either.

The way you looked sleeping in the moonlight, face calm and serene, body bathed in blue, your fingers curling into the pillow. Your face beneath mine, eyes creased with pleasure, a fine sheen of sweat on your forehead. The way your eyes danced as you quivered with aftershocks. So beautiful. I memorised every line, every twitch of your expression - pure ecstasy. I never wanted to forget the way you looked at that moment, overwhelmed with pleasure.

Now I desperately want to forget, to lose every one of these memories that continually resurface to torment me. Images of you, your hands on my skin, your naked body. The little catch in your voice when I touched you, stroked you. Your rich aroma heavy with sex and sweat. Every moment so fucking clear in my head, so hot, so rich, I'm torn between wanking off and breaking down into tears.

Why did you go?

Or worse, why have you stayed away?

The answering machine is my enemy, it's blinking light striking dire hope into me only to ruthlessly quash it when the recording is never your voice. Every phone ring, every knock at the door, all are false hopes. Each one deepening and accentuating my misery.

I wonder if you're coming back. If you're ever coming back to me.

I'm watching the door and thinking. Thinking about trying not to think about you. Wondering if I can get through an hour, a minute, a second without you passing through my head. It's a pasttime that seems to be taking up more and more of my time lately, and I'm getting sick of it.

Onward!

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