You're all over me. I want it. I feel your tongue. I'm there, you're there and I'm calling out to you, and I'm falling. Then I'm awake, chest heaving, eyes wider than my legs just were in that dream. I need a shower. I stand under the spray for what seems like hours. Then I throw on an old paint splattered sundress and some flip flops. I make myself a cup of tea and an english muffin. I eat, slowly, staring at the canvas that is whispering to me. I paint until it's dark and I don't realize. I look out the window at the cars going by to wherever happy people go on Friday nights. When you were here it didn't matter the day, the time, anything. All that mattered was that we had each other. You let me paint until you couldn't stand it anymore, and started to kiss my neck softly, pulling me away with no hands. You explored my body at night. Some days you worked for hours and left me to my pieces, the big pieces. That's when you left for lies and deception. That's when you were someone else I never knew existed. That's the point when the memories become distorted, and when the dream I keep having becomes a haunting reverie of beauty and pain and so many other things. Sometimes I miss you so badly it hurts my heart to the point of shortness of breath. I ache. I hate you now because even though you aren't here, you are everywhere.