I can almost feel him.
The whisper of his stroke. The gentleness of his breath. The wickedness of his kiss.
Even as I lay, curled, alone in our bed. His presence is near.
I know he is here. He has to be.
Please, come to me.
My eyes close, wanting nothing more than to hear his whisper.
A warmth seeps into the darkest bits of me, taking my breath.
"I love you."
The soft sentiment blows out the tender flame having taken place in my being.
The chilling reminder he is gone. He is no longer.
I am alone. Left to live. In a world where he is not.