It would ache really bad that it wrenches my everything.
And when it starts, it never stops.
There I was placing my hand on my chest, wishing it would slowly disappear.
Then, I would give up. And do what I always did when it happens.
I call his name. Again. And again. And again.
And I close my eyes for a moment or two.
There he is.
He is standing by my bed. Looking at me, with those tired eyes. That speaks volumes.
Stay with me for the night, I would say.
He would smile that smile that I loved, his eyes twinkling with hope.
I push away my quilt and he would climb in bed, his body warm and collected.
I would stay up all night, resting my head on his bare chest, listening attentively to his every heartbeat.
Every second of his breath calms me. It made me feel safe. With him next to me.
I would try my best to keep my eyes open, doing little things that matter to us.
Rustling his hair with my fingers, mapping his face out line by line and running my fingers up and down his chest.
When I finally succumbed to the magic of the night, he would hum my favourite hum, careful not to move an inch of his body and wake me up.
By morning, he'd already left my side, and I would secretly smile because;
On the nights that he stayed were the best nights that I felt genuinely happy.
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