There it is again. That queasy, empty feeling. That feeling where you’re so thirsty, so hungry, yet you can never fill that void.

That’s what he feels when he stares up at the ceiling at night, his arm hovering over his eyes.

He feels the cold sheets, the soft pillows, and the whispers of your touch. His mind is plagued with your name. He just wants the comforting darkness of his bedroom to swallow him whole.

When he wakes up, he knows it’s all a dream. “Damn it.” He mutters under his breath.