catharsis.

cravings.

the silence is odd after months of static, after months of rushing and urgency and pushing and pulling, and I count, by tens, the amount of dust motes caught in the sliver of sunlight above my head.

but the quiet is good. nice even. gives me time to think of life and love and everything that's somehow sandwiched in between. I haven't had the time to think about all of that in a long while.

I roll onto my side, my fist clutching onto the sheets. I'm greeted by the light that filters through the curtains and illuminates the room.

I feel as if something is missing.

it appears to me right then, in a flash of color: the image of him lying beside me, his face in shadow, his back towards the light. him, right here, right now, close enough for me to touch.

I try to breathe. It comes out shaky.

close enough for me to run my hands through the waves of his hair, to run my finger along the bridge of his nose. close enough for me to plant kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. close enough for my mouth to wander down, down, down his neck like a wayward traveller; close enough for me to wrap my arms around him and pull him in and bury my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his smell of smoke and something deeper.

close.

I groan loudly. bury my face in my pillow. blush at my recent imaginings, ones he'd probably call me a fool for.

but they don't stop, beginning to misbehave and run rampant instead.

again, close. close enough to feel his warmth against mine, to curl my fingers into the front of his shirt and erase the distance between our skins. close enough to feel him set his hands on my hips and press us together, to slick my tongue past the seam of his mouth, to feel his hands creep lower and lower as I gasp for air, his breath hot against my collarbone –

that's it.

I pull the comforter over my head, and hit my head on the window once or twice for good measure. my cheeks burn, and swearing under my breath, I kick back the covers, heading to the kitchen prepared to stuff myself. I was prepared to face the guilt later, but honestly speaking I probably wouldn't have regretted it anyway.

after all, cravings were always hard to deal with — especially the ones that, unfortunately, didn't have the chance to be satisfied.