When the night begins to swallow her, she thinks of him.
Stretched along her cotton sheets, where her hips seem to sink, she thinks of him.
She remembers the warmth of his breath, but not of his touch.
Cold as ice, she remembers him.
And when her body longed to be his, ignited with a burning passion, she remembers him.
She remembers how he never thought of her.
She thinks of how he never remembered her.
As she shifts her hips, she feels less alone than when she shifted them towards him.