You lay beside John. Despite all the sheets, the blankets and the comforter over you, a cold settled deep within your bones.

A literal and figurative distance wriggled between you two. All you wanted to do was reach out, brush your hand over his calloused ones, and carry his burdens.

“I’m sorry,” John murmured remorsefully as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes murky with a sense of bittersweetness. He lay tense, like rotting driftwood.

“I tried to love you, I — I did love you.”